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THE  HARVARD  VOLUNTEERS 
IN  EUROPE 

PERSONAL  RECORDS  OF  EXPERIENCE  IN 

MILITARY,  AMBULANCE,  AND 

HOSPITAL  SERVICE 


V*  ^^^DtTED  BY 

MP^Arf)EWOLFE  HOWE 


CAMBRIDGE 
HARVARD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

LONDON:  HUMPHREY  MILFORD 

Oxf  OBD  University  Press 

I916 


COPYMGHT,  I916 
HARVARD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 


8  1316 


'C1.A445552 


THE  VOLUNTEERS 

From  fields  of  toil  and  fields  of  play, 
Wherever  surged  the  game  of  life. 

All  eager  for  the  mightier  fray, 

They  sped  them  to  the  clashing  strife  — 

To  fight  the  fight,  to  heal  the  hurt. 
To  sail  the  chartless  tracts  of  air. 

Eyes  forward,  head  and  heart  alert. 
To  pay  their  undemanded  share. 

For  so  their  Ancient  Mother  taught, 
And  so  they  learned  it  at  her  knee  — 

Where  mercy,  peril,  death  are  wrought, 
There,  in  the  ruck  of  things,  to  he. 

And  thus  they  wage,  with  euery  nerve. 
The  great  day's  work  —  nor  that  alone, 

But,  ^neath  what  flag  soever  they  serve, 
Brighten  the  colors  of  their  own. 


PREFATORY 

AT  the  outbreak  of  the  European  war,  during 
the  season  of  summer  travel  in  19 14,  many 
Harvard  men  were  in  Europe.  Not  a  few  of  them 
were  attached  to  the  United  States  embassies  and 
legations  in  the  various  capitals.  The  business  of 
these  offices  immediately  became  pressing  in  the 
extreme.  The  labors  of  those  officially  connected 
with  them  were  shared  at  once  by  volunteers  —  the 
first  of  the  Harvard  fellowship  to  offer  a  helping 
hand  where  it  was  needed  in  the  sudden  disorganiza- 
tion of  an  orderly  world.  The  call  to  the  colors  of 
the  various  warring  nations  quickly  drew  into  the 
conflict  those  who  owed  allegiance  to  one  or  another 
flag.  In  mihtary  service,  such  as  that  of  the  For- 
eign Legion  and  Flying  Corps  of  the  French  Army, 
others  have  expressed  the  allegiance  of  sympathy 
if  not  of  birth.  But  it  has  been  in  the  organization 
of  hospital  service  and  in  the  work  of  ambulance 
corps  engaged  in  the  dangerous  task  of  bringing 
wounded  men  with  all  possible  speed  to  the  minis- 


vi  PREFATORY 

trations  of  surgeons  and  nurses  that  Harvard  has 
had  by  far  the  largest  numerical  representation.  In 
hospital  work  it  has  been  even  an  official  repre- 
sentation, for  the  Surgical  Units  sent  in  the  spring 
of  191 5  to  the  American  Ambulance  Hospital  in 
Paris,  and  in  the  summer  of  the  same  year  to  equip 
a  British  military  hospital  in  France  —  a  service 
undertaken  originally  for  three  months,  but  con- 
tinued until  the  present  time  —  were  Units  bearing 
the  name  and  sanction  of  the  University,  through 
its  Medical  School.  From  the  Medical  School  also 
Professor  Strong  was  detached  for  his  service  of 
world-wide  importance  in  combatting,  successfully, 
the  plague  of  typhus  in  Servia. 

At  the  end  of  this  volume  a  list  of  the  Harvard 
men  who  have  participated  in  various  forms  of  ser- 
vice, in  Europe,  in  connection  with  the  War — a  list 
for  which  it  is  impossible  to  claim  completeness  — 
is  printed.  It  would  doubtless  be  longer  if  our 
own  affairs  on  the  Mexican  border  in  the  summer  of 
1 916  had  not  drawn  thither  many  young  Harvard 
men  of  the  type  chiefly  represented  among  the  am- 
bulance drivers  in  France.  A  Hst  of  those,  young 
and  old,  who  have  identified  themselves,  to  not- 


PREFATORY  vii 

able  purpose,  with  relief  work  in  America  would  be 
quite  unwieldy  in  its  proportions. 

Of  the  more  than  four  hundred  men  recorded  as 
rendering  their  personal  services  in  Europe,  all  but 
four  have  helped  the  cause  of  the  Allies.  From 
this  fact  it  is  not  fair  to  draw  the  overwhelming 
conclusion  that  is  most  obvious.  The  Harvard 
Medical  School  is  known  to  have  been  ready  to 
undertake  the  organization  of  a  Surgical  Unit  for 
service  in  Germany,  in  the  event  of  the  German 
government  asking  for  it  as  the  British  govern- 
ment asked  for  the  Unit  maintained  in  France. 
That  Harvard  men  of  German  birth  and  sym- 
pathies, led  by  a  spirit  of  idealism  and  loyalty, 
would  have  given  their  services  to  Germany  if 
access  to  the  Teutonic  countries  had  been  possible, 
there  can  be  no  doubt. 

It  is,  however,  with  those  who  have  served,  or  are 
serving,  in  Europe  that  this  volume  must  deal. 
From  them  have  proceeded  inmmierable  letters, 
diaries,  and  other  records,  a  few  of  which  have  been 
available  for  the  present  purpose.  The  passages 
here  brought  together  will  be  found  to  illustrate 
both  the  wide  variety  of  the  work  in  which  Harvard 


viii  PREFATORY 

men  have  been  engaged  and  the  zeal  they  have 
brought  to  its  performance.  It  is  a  matter  of  regret 
that,  although  letters  from  the  German  side  have 
been  desired  and  definitely  sought,  they  have  not 
been  obtainable.  But  the  collection  now  offered 
does  not  aim  at  completeness.  That  must  await 
the  end  of  the  War,  and  a  scheme  of  encyclopedic 
dimensions.  Meanwhile  the  following  pages  may 
contribute  something  to  a  knowledge  of  what  has 
been  going  on  in  Europe,  and  of  the  part  that 
Harvard  men  have  played  in  it. 

Boston,  October,  1916. 


CONTENTS 

Prefatory   v 

Early  in  Belgium 3 

Francis  T.  Colby,  '05. 

Life  and  Death  in  the  Trenches 14 

A.  C.  Champollion,  '02. 
H.  G.  Byng,  '13. 

An  Illustrated  Letter 25 

Pierre  Alexandre  Gouvy. 

A  Zeppelin  over  Paris 28 

Francis  Jaques,  ^03. 

At  the  American  Ambulance  Hospital 32 

Robert  B.  Greenough,  '92. 
Harvey  Gushing,  M.D.,  '95. 
George  Benet,  M.D.,'13. 

At  a  French  Hospital  Near  the  Line SS 

George  Benet,  M.D.,  '13. 

The  Work  in  Serbia. 61 

George  C.  Shattuck,  '01. 

With  the  American  Ambulance  Hospital  Motors  .      77 
John  Paulding  Brown,  '14. 
Dallas  D.  L.  McGrew,  '03. 

The  American  Volunteer  Motor-Ambulance  Corps      84 
Richard  Norton,  '92. 

A  Laborer  in  the  Trenches 105 

F.  C.  Baker,  '12. 

is 


X  CONTENTS 

I^E  American  Distributing  Service 109 

Langdon  Warner,  '03. 

A  Harvard  Club  at  the  Front 115 

Stephen  Galatti,  '10. 

A  Scene  in  Alsace 118 

Waldo  Peirce,  '07. 

The  Death  of  a  Comrade 122 

Tracy  J.  Putnam,  '15. 

With  the  Foreign  Legion 133 

Alan  Seeger,  '  10. 
David  W.  King,  '16. 
Henry  W.  Farnsworth,  '12. 

From  A  Royal  Field  Artillery  Lieutenant     ...     161 
Charles  D.  Morgan,  '06. 

The  Military  Hospital  Units 171 

David  Cheever,  '97. 

Frank  H.  Cushman,  D.M.D.,  '15. 

W.  R.  Morrison,  '10. 

The  Day's  Work  in  an  Ambulance  Corps     ....     189 
Richard  Norton,  '92. 

Undergraduates  in  the  Ambulance  Service  ....     203 
Philip  C.  Lewis,  '17. 
John  F.  Brown,  Jr.,  '18. 

From  the  Letters  of  Two  Ambulance  Drivers  .   .     215 
C.  S.  Forbes,  '00. 
C.  R.  Codman,  2d,  '15. 

"  Le  Roi  de  l'Air  est  Royalement  Mort  "   .   .   .   .     229 
Victor  Chapman,  '13. 

Harvard  Men  in  the  European  War 241 


THE  HARVARD  VOLUNTEERS 
IN  EUROPE 


4  EARLY  IN  BELGIUM 

COLONNE  D'AmbULANCE,    i^re  DIVISION,   CAVALERIE  BeLGE, 

December  19,  1914.^ 
We  left  Paris  on  December  7,  loaded  with  every  pound 
we  could  carry  in  relief  gifts  to  the  Belgian  refugees, 
given  by  Mrs.  H.  P.  Whitney.  We  carried  two  car- 
loads of  sweaters,  one  carload  of  underclothes,  one 
carload  of  chocolate  and  socks,  and  one  car  loaded 
with  all  the  fixings  and  necessaries  for  an  operating 
room,  given  by  Mr.  Bacon.  Altogether  it  was  a  splen- 
did freight  of  American  gifts,  and  I  never  felt  like  so 
real  a  Santa  Claus  before. 

I  have  six  cars  all  told. 

One  20-horsepower  Daimler,  and  supply  car  for  this; 
food  and  spare  tires. 

One  30-horsepower  Daimler  ambulance,  i.  e.,  the  big 
one  you  have  a  picture  of,  carrying  six  litters  or  ten 
sitting  cases. 

Four  15-horsepower  Daimlers,  taking  four  litters  or 
six  sitting  cases.  .  .  . 

We  went  to  Beauvais  the  first  night,  and  Samer, 
near  Boulogne,  the  second,  in  heavy  rain  and  with  a 
good  deal  of  tire  trouble  because  of  our  heavy  loads. 
We  reached  Dunkirk  on  Tuesday,  the  9th,  and  gave 
our  cargo  to  the  Belgian  authorities,  who  were  very 

^  Reprinted  from  Boston  Evening  Transcript. 


FRANCIS  T.  COLBY,  '05  5 

much  pleased  indeed.  The  operating  room  was,  I 
believe,  put  to  immediate  use. 

I  tendered  the  services  of  myself  and  my  ambulance 
detachment  and  was  accepted  and  ordered  to  report 
to  the  premiere  division  of  cavalry.  This  I  at  once 
did.  The  i^"  Division  is  made  up  of  the  very  flower 
of  the  Belgian  army,  largely  officered  by  noblemen. 
We  have  been  received  with  the  greatest  courtesy,  and 
have  been  assured  that  the  ambulance  detachment  was 
a  thing  of  which  they  were  in  the  greatest  need,  and 
that  it  should  have  a  large  number  of  men  who  would 
otherwise  have  to  be  left  on  the  field  of  battle.  This, 
unfortunately,  has  often  happened  in  the  past. 

For  several  days  we  have  been  carrying  French 
wounded  for  a  neighboring  hospital,  and  find  that  our 
cars  are  in  every  way  fitted  for  the  work  on  these 
northern  roads,  which  are  worse  than  anything  we  have 
met  before.  It  rains  every  day  —  just  like  Southern 
Alaska  —  and  everywhere  except  the  centre  of  the 
road,  which  is  apt  to  be  of  cobble-stones,  is  a  foot  deep 
in  mud.  Of  course  you  have  got  to  get  off  the  cobble- 
stones when  you  meet  artillery  or  big  motor  trucks, 
and  it  takes  a  good  driver  not  to  stall  his  car.  .  .  . 


6  EARLY  IN  BELGIUM 

FuRNES,  Belge,  December  25,  1914.* 

This  is  Christmas  night,  or  rather  was,  for  it  is  now 
after  midnight,  and  strangely  enough  I've  had  a  Christ- 
mas dinner.  The  town  is  filled  with  soldiers  of  many 
•regiments,  some  marching  in  from  the  trenches  and 
others  going  out.  All  very  quiet  but  very  determined. 
The  main  square  is  a  dehghtful  place,  with  old  churches 
of  1562  and  a  charming  old  Hotel  de  Ville  of  the  best 
Flemish  architecture.  I  am  "  billetted  "  at  the  house 
of  the  teading  lawyer.  That  is  to  say,  the  officer  in 
charge  of  quartering  troops  has  given  me  a  small  docu- 
ment which  forces  this  good  gentleman  to  provide  me 
with  a  bed  and  lodging  as  an  officer  of  the  Belgian 
army.  In  fact,  I  am  a  guest  and  have  just  left  my  host, 
whose  brother  has  many  African  trophies  here.  My 
room  is  large,  with  many  paintings  of  the  Dutch  and 
Flemish  School,  inlaid  tables,  and  best  of  all,  a  huge 
bed,  for  it  is  a  long  time  since  I  have  slept  in  a  bed  of 
any  kind. 

This  morning  I  waked  to  the  distant  rumble  of  guns, 
but  they  sounded  a  long  way  off,  and  are  so  in  fact  — 
largely  the  British  ships  shelling  the  German  trenches. 
The  battalion  to  which  I  am  attached,  namely  cycKsts, 
made  up  of  our  cavalrymen  whose  horses  have  been 
*  From  Harvard  Alumni  Bulletin,  February  3,  1915. 


FRANCIS  T.  COLBY,  '05  7 

killed,  left  for  the  trenches  this  afternoon.  We  did  not 
go  with  them  because  their  pace  is  too  slow  to  be 
economical  for  motors,  but  shall  follow  tomorrow. 

Just  before  lunch  I  motored  to  La  Panne,  where 
there  is  a  large  hospital  in  which  the  Queen  herself  is 
interested.  I  took  the  surgical  shirts  which  you  have 
sent  me  as  a  Christmas  gift,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of 
giving  them  and  knowing  that  they  were  of  immediate 
use,  without  delay  or  red  tape.  I  also  offered  to  give  a 
large  part  of  the  anaesthetics  which  you  are  sending 
me,  but  which  have  not  yet  reached  me.  .  .  . 

I  went  out  this  morning  with  Sir  Bar  tie  Frere  to  see 
a  young  English  doctor  who  has  been  with  an  ambu- 
lance attached  to  the  first  Belgian  artillery  division,  as 
we  are  to  the  cavalry.  He  was  very  glad  to  see  us  and 
it  seemed  to  be  quite  a  part  of  his  Christmas.  He  told 
me  many  interesting  things  about  the  work  and  gave 
me  much  valuable  information.  Unfortunately  he  has 
been  wounded  three  times,  the  last  time  so  seriously 
that  he  will  not  be  able  to  take  the  field  again,  if  he 
recovers.  I  lunched  with  a  company  of  English  ambu- 
lance people  who  are  connected  with  the  British  Red 
Cross.  They  are  very  pleasant  and  gave  me  a  lot  of 
chocolate,  marmalade,  and  EngHsh  cigarettes. 

This  afternoon  we  were  just  putting  the  cars  in  the 
courtyard  of  the  British  hospital,  when  the  Germans 


8  EARLY  IN  BELGIUM 

took  it  into  their  heads  to  give  us  a  taste  of  their  big 
guns.  The  first  shot  was  a  beauty,  range  and  deflection 
perfect,  but  luckily  for  us  the  height  of  burst  a  little 
too  great.  The  report  sounded  louder  than  usual  and 
after  it  we  heard  the  scream  of  the  projectile,  then  the 
sharp  blast  as  the  shrapnel  burst  about  one  hundred 
and  fifty  yards  short.  The  bullets  struck  the  building 
and  in  the  courtyard  all  around  us,  but  the  cars  were 
not  hit.  A  woman  in  a  house  about  one  hundred  yards 
short  had  her  arm  taken  off  by  the  case. 

After  that  the  Germans  fired  for  about  an  hour.  I 
thought  it  best  to  see  that  the  cars  would  start,  in  case 
they  wanted  us  to  move  the  wounded,  and  imagine  our 
disgust  when  Gardy's  [Gardiner  F.  Hubbard,  'oo]  car, 
usually  a  most  docile  beast,  refused  to  give  even  a 
cough.  We  had  to  take  down  the  whole  of  the  gasoline 
supply  system  in  the  dark  and  found  that  water  from 
the  cursed  French  "  essence  ''  had  collected  and  frozen 
solid  in  the  pipes.  All  the  while  the  Germans  were 
shooting.  The  reports  reached  us  about  two  or  three 
seconds  before  we  could  hear  the  scream  of  the  shell, 
so  we  would  flatten  up  against  the  wall  when  we  heard 
a  shot  and  then  go  to  work  again.  The  Germans 
stopped  shooting  at  about  8.30,  and  we  sat  down  to 
our  dinner  at  a  little  before  nine.  I  was  the  guest  of 
the  small  (English)  gathering  of  medical  officers  and 


FRANCIS  T.  COLBY,  ^05  9 

nurses  in  Furnes.  All  were  in  uniform  and  just  from 
work.  As  I  was  going  to  wash  the  grease  off  my  hands 
before  dinner  I  passed  the  woman  who  had  been  hit  by 
the  shrapnel  which  so  nearly  got  us.  She  had  had  her 
arm  amputated,  and  was  just  coming  out  of  the  ether. 

The  dinner  was  much  like  ours  at  home  —  a  big 
U-shaped  table  for  sixty  people,  with  the  flags  of  the 
Allies  draped  among  the  Christmas  things  of  all  kinds 
—  bonbons  and  "  crackers  "  on  the  table,  champagne 
in  the  glasses,  and  best  of  all,  turkey  and  plum  pudding. 
The  man  on  my  right  was  a  ''  real  one  ";  he  owned  his 
own  ambulance  and  has  been  in  it  from  the  beginning. 
Six  weeks  ago  he  was  wounded  by  a  bomb  from  an 
aeroplane  while  taking  wounded  out  of  Nieuport  and 
he  is  just  back  in  service  again.  We  drank  the  health 
of  the  Belgian  and  EngHsh  kings,  and  of  absent  ones, 
and  sang  ''  For  he's  a  jolly  good  fellow  "  to  several 
people. 

All  told,  it  was  a  good  dinner,  and  if  any  one  had 
feelings  other  than  those  usual  at  Christmas,  he  kept 
them  to  himself.  The  German  guns  might  just  as  well 
have  been  across  the  Rhine,  as  across  the  Yser,  as  far 
as  our  dinner  was  concerned.  That  is  Hke  the  English; 
the  more  I  see  of  them,  and  the  Belgians  also,  the  better 
I  like  them.  It  is  very  late  and  I  cannot  write  again 
for  some  days,  for  I  am  busy  from  early  morning  to 


lo  EARLY  IN  BELGIUM 

late  evening.  Just  now  that  big  bed  in  the  corner  is  too 
attractive  and  too  unusual  to  this  kind  of  life  to  be  put 
aside  any  longer,  and  so  good  night. 

Happy  New  Year. 

FuRNES,  December  31,  1914.^ 

The  last  long  letter  I  wrote  was  Christmas  night,  and 
I  told  you  about  being  shelled  and  about  our  Christmas 
dinner.  Well,  the  next  morning  I  went  down  to  the 
courtyard  of  the  hospital  to  do  some  work  on  the  cars 
before  taking  two  of  them  out  to  the  trenches  to  our 
battalion,  which  had  just  gone  in.  We  were  soon 
interested  in  an  aeroplane  which  came  over  us  from  the 
north.  Just  as  it  reached  our  zenith  there  was  a  zigging 
sound  not  unHke  a  shell,  followed  by  a  sharp  explosion, 
and  a  house  about  two  hundred  yards  away  flew  into 
pieces.  The  aeroplane  had  hardly  dropped  its  first 
bomb  when  the  soldiers  came  swarming  from  their 
houses,  and  the  cracking  of  rifles  sounded  on  every 
side,  and  soon  a  machine  gun  got  into  action,  and 
Furnes  was  a  lively  Httle  town.  The  German  did  not 
seem  to  care,  and  dropped  three  more  bombs,  and  then 
seemed  to  find  it  too  hot  for  him  and  got  out  —  not 
until,  however,  he  had  dipped  to  give  his  gunners  our 
range  and  deflection. 

^  Reprinted  from  Boston  Evening  Transcript. 


FRANCIS  T.  COLBY,  '05  11 

That  morning  I  went  out  to  join  our  battaKon  just 
back  of  the  trenches.  The  roads  were  paves  in  the 
middle  and  then  a  drop  of  anywhere  from  six  inches  to 
a  foot  and  a  half  in  the  soft  mud.  I  got  forced  off  by  a 
big  motor  truck,  and  laid  my  best  car  up  with  a  broken 
clutch  bearing.  I  was  towed  home,  and  in  the  after- 
noon again  went  out  with  two  cars.  Placed  one  with 
our  battalion,  and  with  the  other  went  to  a  French  bat- 
tery which  was  in  action.  The  captain  had  been 
wounded,  and  we  also  picked  up  two  wounded  men 
and  took  them  all  straight  through  to  Dunkirk  at  the 
request  of  the  medical  authorities. 

That  is  why  my  letter  is  mailed  from  Dunkirk.  My 
cars  are  all  now  working  either  with  the  battaHon  to 
which  I  am  attached,  or  for  the  Dr.  Depage  Hospital 
at  La  Panne,  or  the  British  Hospital  here. 

Yesterday  we  had  a  most  interesting,  but  fatal, 
exhibition  of  the  combination  of  gunners  and  artillery. 
A  Taube  came  over  in  the  morning,  and  dropped  a 
bomb,  which  caused  great  loss  of  hfe.  In  the  afternoon 
two  Taubes  came  over,  and  just  as  one  of  them  got 
over  a  certain  point  it  dipped.  Hunter  and  I  were  on 
our  way  up  in  a  motor,  and  speeded  up  to  get  away 
before  the  bomb  fell.  None  were  thrown,  however; 
instead,  the  enemy's  artillery  opened  fire.  They  did 
not  hit  this  certain  place,  but  the  shells  did  great 


12  EARLY  IN  BELGIUM 

damage,  and  killed  a  lot  of  people.  Soldiers  were  en 
route  to  the  trenches. 

FxjRNES,  January  24,  1915. 

The  morning  of  the  2 2d  was  clear,  and,  as  usual  on 
clear  mornings,  the  German  aeroplanes  visited  us.  It 
was  a  very  wonderful  scene  —  the  aeroplanes  above, 
the  boom  of  anti-aircraft  guns  all  about,  and  the  air 
filled  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  planes  with  little  white 
puffs  of  smoke  and  the  bursting  of  shrapnel.  I  went 
down  in  a  motor  to  Gyzelt  to  report  to  my  command- 
ing officer,  and  on  the  way  back  saw  another  aeroplane 
fight,  and  shrapnel,  and  a  British  biplane  to  help.  One 
of  the  Germans  dropped  a  bullet  through  the  petrol 
tank,  and  had  to  come  down  about  two  kilometres 
from  Adinkerke.  We  motored  up  across  the  canal  in  a 
boat  and  had  a  look  at  the  machine  —  a  beauty,  and 
quite  uninjured,  with  a  crowd  of  delighted  French  and 
Belgians  about  it. 

That  night  Carroll  left  for  Paris,  and  had  scarcely 
gone  when  the  bombardment  here  began.  The  operat- 
ing room  was  soon  filled  with  wounded  —  all  soldiers 
this  time.  Five  ambulances,  luckily  not  mine,  were 
smashed,  and  much  damage  done.  The  shooting 
stopped,  and  I  went  to  bed  and  read  a  novel  for  a 
time,  but  it  was  not  long  before  I  heard  the  scream  of 
another  shell,  and  turned  out  to  search  for  wounded. 


FRANCIS  T.  COLBY,  '05  13 

We  spent  the  night  in  cellars,  but  personally  I  slept 
pretty  well. 

Yesterday  morning  all  was  quiet  until  about  ten 
o'clock  when  the  Germans  opened  fire.  I  took  Van- 
deraa,  a  Belgian  soldier  in  my  command,  and  went  out 
into  the  town.  It  was  the  real  thing,  and  plenty  of  it. 
I  reported  for  duty  to  the  commanding  officer.  The 
staff  and  most  of  the  motors  had  gone,  and  the  streets 
were  deserted.  I  found  plenty  to  do,  for  the  houses 
were  filled  with  soldiers,  and  each  shell  got  its  quota. 
We  soon  filled  the  cars  and  returned  for  more.  I  took 
only  the  wounded,  and  left  the  dead  where  they  lay. 
There  was  satisfaction  in  feehng  that  one  was  tending 
to  the  w^ounded  under  fire,  and  I  think  I  was  right  in 
staying  here.  After  the  shelling  stopped,  we  took  all 
the  nurses  from  the  hospital  and  large  numbers  of  old 
and  crippled  civilians  to  places  of  safety.  One  of  the 
nurses,  however,  was  seriously  wounded,  and  will  lose 
her  leg. 


LIFE  AND  DEATH  IN  THE  TRENCHES 

EARLY  in  the  War,  Andre  Cheronet  Cham- 
pollion,  '02,  a  naturalized  American  citizen  of 
French  descent,  enlisted  in  the  French  Army.  He 
was  a  grandson  of  the  late  Austin  Corbin  and  a 
great-grandson  of  Jean  Frangois  ChampoUion,  the 
eminent  Egyptologist  who  deciphered  the  Rosetta 
Stone.  A  painter  by  profession,  he  was  also  a 
hunter  of  big  game  and  had  lived  much  in  the  open. 
Yet  without  military  training,  he  began  his  army 
life  as  a  private  in  a  platoon  of  candidates  at  Sens. 
There  his  hope  was  to  be  ^^  sent  to  the  front  to  fill 
the  gaps  left  by  other  petty  officers,  who  have  been 
^  knocked  in  the  block.'  If  I  behave  myself  at  the 
front,  I  may  get  promoted  to  adjutant  or  second 
lieutenant."  On  March  i,  191 5,  he  went  to  the 
front,  and  wrote  the  first  of  the  two  following 
letters  to  his  friend,  Anton  Schefer,  '03,  of  New 
York.  The  second  letter,  dated  March  20,  was 
written  only  three  days  before  he  fell  at  Bois-le- 
Pretre,  in  France,  killed  by  a  bullet  in  the  forehead. 


A.  C.  CHAMPOLLION,  '02  15 

At  the  Front,  March  i,  1915.* 

It  may  interest  you  to  know  that  this  letter  is  written 
in  the  trenches,  thirty  yards  away  from  the  enemy's 
lines,  with  the  continual  crashing  of  artillery  all 
around  and  the  shells  whizzing  directly  over  our  heads. 
I  have  indicated  by  cross  every  time  a  shell  passes  over 
us  during  the  composition  of  this  note.  If  I  punctu- 
ated the  explosions,  I  should  have  to  stop  between  each 
letter.  It  is  astonishing  how  quickly  one  gets  used  to 
the  racket.  The  first  two  or  three  times  you  lower  your 
head  involuntarily,  and  then  you  take  the  noise  as  a 
matter  of  course.  We  are  in  a  forest  in  a  regular 
labyrinth  of  trenches,  some  entirely  underground,  and 
we  are  plastered  with  mud  from  head  to  foot.  It  is  a 
Kfe  of  filth  and  misery  beyond  description,  but  so 
extraordinarily  novel  and  interesting  that,  strange  as 
it  may  seem,  I  am  in  good  spirits.  I  have  only  been 
here  twenty-four  hours,  and  I  dare  say  when  the 
novelty  wears  off  that  I  shall  get  damned  sick  of  it. 
This  morning  it  snowed  and  rained,  but  this  afternoon 
a  cold  wind  is  blowing  and  the  sun  is  out.  .  .  . 

Before  leaving  Sens,  I  passed  the  medical  examina- 
tion and  was  given  my  outfit.  The  uniform  consists 
of  light  blue  cap  and  coat,  with  dark  blue  trousers.    We 

^  From  Harvard  Alumni  Bulletin,  April  7,  1915. 


1 6  IN  THE  TRENCHES 

have  to  carry,  besides  gun,  knapsack  and  cartridge  belt, 
a  canvas  tent  with  pegs  (cracking  of  German  rifles  at 
our  trench)  our  rug  and  rubber  sleeping-bag,  a  gourd 
full  of  fire-water  of  some  kind;  and  two  small  canvas 
bags  filled  with  odds  and  ends,  most  of  which  cannot  be 
used,  soon  get  lost  or  get  caked  with  mud.  The  whole 
weighs  about  thirty-five  or  forty  pounds,  and  at  first 
you  feel  as  if  you  had  another  man  on  your  back.  We 
left  Sens  at  night,  and  spent  twenty-four  hours  huddled 
in  third-class  carriages.  The  next  night  we  spent  in 
rather  clean  barracks,  where  they  actually  supplied  us 
with  cots  instead  of  straw  bedding.  The  next  morn- 
ing another  trip  by  rail.  At  about  ten  o'clock  we  were 
landed  at  an  unattractive  village,  where  we  were  made 
to  stack  arms  in  the  mud  of  a  vegetable  garden.  .  .  . 
Here  we  saw  some  of  the  wounded  on  their  way  to  the 
rear.  Some  were  merely  sick,  others  minus  a  leg  or 
arm.  We  also  began  hearing  the  roar  of  distant  artil- 
lery and  saw  some  aeroplanes  and  observation  balloons. 
That  night  we  spent  on  the  straw,  and  the  next  day, 
after  a  march  through  the  rain,  we  got  to  the  last  settle- 
ment before  getting  to  the  trenches.  This  place  was 
full  of  soldiers  who  had  been  to  the  front,  judging  from 
the  dilapidated  and  filthy  condition  of  their  uniforms. 
They  looked  at  us  with  curiosity,  in  our  new  outfits, 
and  seemed  to  consider  us  like  tenderfeet,  especially 


A.  C.  CHAMPOLLION,  '02  17 

those  of  us  who  were  going  under  fire  for  the  first  time. 
At  about  three  o'clock  we  (about  three  hundred  men) 
halted  in  a  wood  and  were  given  our  final  instructions. 
We  then  marched  along  a  muddy  road  (nothing 
unusual  by  the  way)  and  soon  entered  the  long  com- 
mum'cation-trench,  single  file,  which  was  to  lead  us  to 
the  second  and  first  Hne  of  trenches.  During  this  time 
the  roar  of  guns  were  quite  perceptible,  to  say  the 
least,  and  now  the  first  shells  went  whizzing  over  our 
heads  above  the  trees. 

The  trenches  are  lines,  one  behind  the  other  of 
course,  but  joined  together  in  all  directions  by  every 
kind  of  communication-trench,  like  the  streets  of  a 
city,  for  a  man  never  shows  his  head  above  ground. 
There  are  all  kinds  of  subterranean  cells  and  passages; 
also  one  has  to  sleep  under  ground,  wallow  in  the  mud, 
eat  in  the  mud.  Our  hands  and  faces,  our  uniforms, 
above  all  our  feet,  are  caked  with  it  all  day.  The  sleep- 
ing quarters  are  fairly  well  protected  from  the  rain,  but 
the  greatest  hardships  are  the  mud,  the  wet,  the  ina- 
bility to  wash  the  slightest  bit,  as  water  —  except 
rain  —  is  very  rare  —  and  for  me  who  am  tall,  the  con- 
tinual necessity  of  stooping  down  so  as  not  to  get  my 
head  knocked  off  by  the  enemy's  snipers.  We  are  given 
plenty  to  eat.  The  men's  spirits  are  pretty  good.  It  is 
marvellous  what  you  can  stand  when  you  are  obliged 


1 8  IN  THE  TRENCHES 

to.     Gosh,  think  of  kicking  in  a  New  York  restaurant 
because  the  service  is  not  up  to  the  mark! 

Last  night  we  slept  in  the  sleeping  cells  of  the  second 
line  trenches  (not  so  bad)  but  today  we  are  nose  to 
nose  with  the  enemy  on  the  frontiest  of  fronts.  We 
live  the  lives  of  woodchucks  whose  holes  are  within 
forty  yards  of  Kimton's  [a  New  Hampshire  hunter's] 
front  door.  We  are  not  troubled  by  bomb  or  shell 
explosions  because  we  are  so  near  the  enemy.  Their 
artillery  fire  might  damage  their  own  men  along  with 
ours.  It  is  the  damnedest  life  imaginable.  In  some 
ways  it  is  better  than  Sens  ...  for  you  really  feel  as 
if  you  were  in  the  game.  All  the  petty  annoyances  of 
Sens  are  over.  You  are  no  longer  treated  Hke  an 
irresponsible  ass,  but  like  a  man,  though  you  live  the 
life  of  a  beast  or  of  a  savage.  .  .    . 

I  forgot  to  mention  the  fact  that  we  are  also  pro- 
tected by  rapid  fire  guns,  completely  under  cover,  in 
cells  like  those  in  which  we  sleep.  The  cannonading 
goes  in  wave  motions.  For  an  hour,  like  ii  to  12  this 
morning,  it  may  be  very  violent,  then  calm  down  and 
then  begin  again. 

At  the  Front,  March  20,  1915.^ 

Six  days  ago  we  left  the  village  of  *'  Dunghurst "  at 

two  in  the  morning  and  got  back  to  the  trenches  at 

^  From  Harvard  Alumni  Bulletin,  April  28,  1915. 


A.  C.  CHAMPOLLION,  '02  19 

about  eight,  that  is,  six  hours  later.  When  we  first 
entered  the  long  communication-trench,  things  seemed 
pretty  quiet.  Only  a  shot  and  an  explosion  at  long 
intervals  could  be  heard.  We  had  travelled  along  the 
communication-trench  about  half  an  hour,  and  were 
about  to  enter  our  shelters  in  the  second  line  trenches 
when  not  far  away  came  two  fairly  loud  bomb  explo- 
sions in  quick  succession.  Then  the  earth  seemed  all 
of  a  sudden  to  reel.  There  was  a  commotion  like  the 
bursting  asunder  of  a  volcano.  Two  hundred  yards 
off,  above  the  trees,  a  column  of  huge  rocks,  lumps  of 
earth,  tree-trunks,  and  probably  numerous  human 
limbs,  rose  slowly  and  majestically.  The  upper  frag- 
ments, as  they  rose,  seemed  to  advance  menacingly  in 
our  direction,  as  if  they  must  surely  hit  us  when  they 
returned  to  earth.  They  seemed  suspended  in  the  air 
for  an  indefinite  space  of  time,  as  if  there  was  no  hurry 
at  aU  about  their  faUing  back.  They  seemed  to  cross 
and  criss-cross  in  all  directions,  now  obscuring  half  the 
sky.  Gradually  the  mass  assumed  the  shape  of  the 
upper  portion  of  an  elm  tree,  and  then  began  to 
subside.  Then  could  be  heard  the  smashing  sound 
of  the  tree  branches  as  this  mass  of  rock  and  earth 
fell  back  with  the  crushing  force  of  an  avalanche. 
Everybody  ducked  and  plunged  head  first  into  the 
shelters. 


20  IN  THE  TRENCHES 

Almost  immediately  there  came  the  sound  of  thous- 
ands of  heavy  rain  drops  on  a  stiff  canvass  or  the  snap- 
ping of  innumerable  small  whips;  all  this  punctuated 
by  a  peculiar  bizz,  bizz,  whizz  sound  hke  someone 
whistling  in  surprise.  I  could  not  help  making  the 
inward  remark,  ^'  I  knew  war  was  tough,  but  look  here, 
boys,  isn't  this  a  bit  too  rough  ?  "  It  seemed  that  the 
Germans  had  exploded  a  mine  under  one  of  our 
trenches,  then  opened  a  violent  fusillade  to  capture 
what  remained  of  it.  Being  second  line  troops  just 
arrived  from  resting  up,  we  were  not  required  to  fight. 
We  consequently  were  huddled  together  in  a  bomb- 
proof shelter,  packed  all  day  Hke  sardines,  but  quite 
satisfied  to  remain  where  we  were,  while  above  our 
heads  shot  and  shell  seemed  to  pass  for  several  hours 
with  unexampled  violence.  That  night  also  was 
"  stormy,"  but  since  then,  that  is  for  the  last  ^ve  days, 
there  has  been  little  else  but  sniping  and  desultory 
firing  by  the  artillery.  In  the  above  action  we  lost 
sixty  men  killed  and  two  hundred  wounded,  but  the 
enemy  failed  to  capture  the  trench  and  lost  a  few 
yards  of  one  they  had  held  the  day  before. 

The  day  after  the  explosion  I  saw  many  dead  aind 
wounded  men  carried  out  of  the  trenches  on  stretchers. 
Some  of  the  wounded  seemed  more  mauled  than  some 
of  the  dead.    Behind  a  hedge  at  the  end  of  the  com- 


A.  C.  CHAMPOLLION,  '02  21 

munication-trench,  which  hedge  is  erected  to  conceal 
our  movements,  I  counted  twenty-five  dead  men  lined 
up  for  burial.  Their  faces  were  usually  concealed  by 
part  of  their  uniforms,  but  their  arms  assumed  every 
imaginable  attitude,  gestures  of  prayer,  attitudes  of 
men  pleading,  some  even  seemed  threatening.  Here 
and  there  big  red  gashes  and  splotches  indicated  where 
they  had  been  hit.  A  few  men  are  hit  every  day  by  the 
desultory  artillery  fire  and  the  sniping. 

All  the  trees  in  this  wood  show  signs  of  the  punish- 
ment they  have  received.  Whole  acres  are  shaved 
down,  trees  two  feet  in  diameter  have  been  broken  in 
two  like  matches  by  210  mm.  shells.  Almost  all  have 
lost  branches.  Their  trunks  are  all  scarred  by  bullet 
holes  and  scratches. 

In  the  second  line  trenches  we  Hve  the  fives  of  con- 
victs at  hard  labor.  Either  we  have  to  dig  more 
trenches  or  carry  heavy  logs,  iron  bars,  bales  of  hay, 
etc.,  from  the  outside,  along  the  communication- 
trench  to  where  we  are  "  lodged,"  a  distance  of  about 
half  a  mile.  As  the  communication-trenches  are 
always  congested  with  men  coming  and  going,  this 
work  is  aU  the  more  irksome. 

We  five  fike  swine.  There  is  no  water,  so  we  never 
wash  or  even  brush  our  teeth.  We  are  not  aUowed  to 
drink  water.    We  simply  five  in  filth.    At  night  we  are 


2  2  IN  THE  TRENCHES 

huddled  together  in  a  small  bomb-proof  or  covered 
trench.  Though  we  are  pretty  well  protected  from  the 
weather  and  bullets,  we  have  hardly  room  enough  to 
turn  around  in.  We  use  candles  to  light  up  this 
terries,  but  nevertheless  everything  gets  lost  or  hope- 
lessly dirty.  We  eat  from  the  pail,  and  can  get  or  send 
for  all  the  red  or  white  wine  we  want.  In  the  morning, 
besides  tepid  coffee,  we  are  given  a  swig  of  rum  which 
warms  our  stomach  and  starts  the  blood  going.  This 
small  pleasure  and  continued  pipe  smoking  are  about 
our  only  joys  —  but  hold  —  there  is  also  our  mail, 
which  we  get  fairly  regularly. 

There  is  no  longer  a  ghost  of  a  chance  for  me  to  be 
made  interpreter.    Write  often,  old  top. 

Your  faithful  friend, 

''  Champy." 

THE  TOMMIES'  PHILOSOPHY 

Another  letter  from  the  trenches  should  be  added 
to  these  of  ChampoUion.  It  was  written  to  Pro- 
fessor C.  T.  Copeland,  by  a  young  Englishman, 
Harry  Gustav  Byng,  a  graduate  of  Harvard  in 
1 913,  who  enlisted  as  a  private  in  the  London 
Artists'  Riiies  early  in  the  War,  and,  at  the  date 
borne  by  his  letter,  was  on  the  point  of  receiving  a 


HARRY  GUSTAV  BYNG,  '13  23 

commission  in  the  2d  Border  Regiment.  On  March 
22, 1 91 5,  he  was  married  in  London  to  an  American. 
On  May  16,  he  was  killed  near  Festubert  in 
France.  In  the  light  of  Byng's  brief  career  as  a 
private  and  officer,  his  letter  carries  with  it  more 
than  its  manifest  simpHcity. 

March  5,  1915. 

I  HAVE  been  over  here  since  last  October.  I  enlisted 
in  a  regiment  which  is  composed  entirely  of  University 
men  —  named  "  the  Artists  "  — but  I  am  now  going  to 
take  a  commission.  Life  is  much  more  simple  and 
pleasant  as  a  private  amongst  friends ;  but  they  need 
officers  who  have  had  a  certain  amount  of  experience, 
so  there  is  no  help  for  it. 

Trench  Hfe,  of  which  luckily  I  have  not  had  so 
much  as  a  good  many  others,  is  at  times  monotonous 
and  at  times  exciting.  Last  week  when  out  scouting 
in  a  mist,  I  ran  into  a  German  patrol  —  then  it  was 
exciting.  At  the  present  moment  I  am  sitting  in  a 
"  dug  out,"  while  our  gunners  and  the  Germans  are 
having  some  practice  —  this  is  monotonous.  At  first 
you  worry  about  the  landing  places  of  the  shells,  but 
there  are  so  many  different  noises,  that  not  being 
able  to  keep  track  of  them  all,  it  is  simpler  to  ignore 
them.     "  Yer  never  'ears  the  bullet  wot  cops  yer  '' 


24  IN  THE  TRENCHES 

is   the   Tommies'  philosophy  —  and  it  is  the  best 
one.  .  .  . 

Do  not  believe  the  stories  you  hear  about  the  apathy 
of  England.  Racing  may  continue,  and  probably  our 
respectable  cricket  will  commence  at  the  regular  date 
—  that  I  suppose  is  our  nature,  but  we  are  in  earnest 
about  this  war.  Whenever  peace  may  be,  you  may  be 
sure  it  will  only  be  after  our  job  is  finished.  Person- 
ally I  hope  to  be  in  Boston  again  this  year. 


AN  ILLUSTRATED  LETTER 

THE  scenes  at  the  front  are  for  the  most  part 
illustrated  by  graphic  words.  In  a  letter  from 
Pierre  Alexandre  Gouvy,  recently  of  the  Business 
School,  the  pen  was  put  to  this  double  use : 


cafitttCU^  aau)1^!«4^  Avt^'Wo  ^t^iAtev^ovi^ , AAv&itie^  oa£  omI^  ivu..  i^t 

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♦Wjt^   t**^   M^X<tU^«  »tf^  COMX44  CcW^    OAJC^*^   »*'4^  •» 


AN  ILLUSTRATED  LETTER 


tUlt<.  oJ^W  UT^^e^*.  4ieJ^  laMt^  tfi<M\  u«u^ 
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PIERRE  ALEXANDRE  GOUVY 


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A  ZEPPELIN  OVER  PARIS 

FROM  the  front  it  is  not  a  far  cry  to  Paris, 
where,  two  days  after  ChampoUion  wrote  the 
letter  just  given,  Francis  Jaques,  '03,  then  associ- 
ated for  more  than  two  months  with  the  "American 
Distribution  Service''  of  the  American  Clearing 
House  in  Paris,  gave,  in  a  letter  to  his  family,  the 
following  description  of  a  stirring  spectacle. 

Paris,  March  22,  1915.^ 

Saturday  night,  or  rather  early  Sunday  morning,  the 
Germans  treated  us  to  the  long-expected  spectacle  of  a 
Zeppelin  raid  on  Paris.  They  hoped  without  doubt  to 
strike  terror  to  the  hearts  of  the  population  of  Paris. 
.  .  .  They  only  succeeded  in  treating  the  city  to  a 
most  interesting  spectacle,  and  in  making  everyone 
feel  that  one  had  not  been  waked  for  nothing. 

Four  Zeppelins  started  for  Paris;  two  were  headed 
off,  and  two  flew  over  the  northwestern  part  of  the 
city.  I  was  sleeping  peacefully  at  10  rue  Chapini,  in 
my  small  apartment  near  the  Etoile,  when  I  was 

*  From  Harvard  Alumni  Bulletin,  May  s,  1915. 
28 


FRANCIS  JAQUES,  '03  29 

awakened  by  the  firing  of  cannon,  about  2  a.m.  I 
stumbled  out  of  bed,  trying  to  make  out  whether  I  was 
in  Dunkerque,  or  Calais;  and  finally  waked  up  enough 
to  realize  that  I  was  in  Paris,  and  that  the  Zeppelins 
must  be  coming  at  last.  I  went  out  on  my  balcony, 
which  commands  a  view  over  the  house-tops  in  every 
direction,  except  the  southeast,  and  saw  the  shells 
from  the  French  guns  describing  great  arcs  across  the 
sky,  passing  over  my  house.  I  could  see  nothing  in  the 
way  of  Zeppelins,  and  so  went  in  again  and  dressed, 
and  then  took  up  my  position  at  the  corner  of  my  bal- 
cony, where  I  could  see  the  whole  sky.  It  was  a  won- 
derful, starry,  cold,  clear  night.  Search-lights  were 
playing  about  the  heavens  in  every  direction  searching 
the  skies,  and  below  in  the  streets  I  could  hear  the 
"  pompiers  "  in  their  automobiles,  rushing  through  the 
city,  warning  people  by  their  "  honk-honk,"  and  their 
bugle  calls  of  "  garde  a  vous  "  to  seek  refuge  in  the 
cellars.  It  was  good  advice;  butParis  wasout  toseea 
Zeppelin,  and  the  balconies  had  as  many  people  as  the 
cellars. 

As  I  was  watching  a  great  beam  of  light  to  the  north- 
west playing  up  and  down,  I  suddenly  saw  something 
bright,  like  a  white  moth,  shine  out  in  the  path  of 
light;  the  search-Hght  swept  up  again,  and  there  it  was 
like  a  long,  white  cigar  in  the  sky.    At  last  I  was  look- 


30  A  ZEPPELIN  OVER  PARIS 

ing  at  a  Zeppelin  —  Paris  had  not  been  waked  up  in 
vain.  I  could  not  have  been  better  placed  to  see  it. 
On  it  came  towards  the  Etoile,  always  followed  by  the 
great  search-Hght.  It  looked  like  a  white  Japanese 
lantern,  lighted  up  inside,  with  the  light  shining 
through  the  paper.  Of  course  it  carried  no  lights ;  but 
the  search-light  gave  it  that  effect.  The  light  seemed 
to  play  along  its  sides  in  ripples  as  on  the  water.  When 
about  one  thousand  yards  from  where  I  was,  it  gradu- 
ally swung  round  broadside  and  started  off  to  the  east 
over  the  northern  part  of  the  city. 

In  the  meantime  the  French  cannon  were  firing 
away  at  it.  Some  shells  were  coming  from  my  left 
near  the  Bois,  others  passing  over  my  head  from 
behind,  and  others  from  the  Arc  de  Triomphe  to  my 
right.  It  was  a  wonderful  sight,  as  the  shells  —  like 
great  round  red  balls  of  fire  —  described  their  arcs 
against  the  starry  sky.  I  could  follow  each  shell,  and 
involuntarily,  I  found  myself  saying  "  Pas  assez 
loin,"  ''  Trop  a  gauche,"  as  though  I  were  at  some 
kind  of  a  tremendous  big  game-hunt.  At  all  the  bal- 
conies, I  could  hear  the  same  remarks,  as  each  one 
followed  the  course  of  each  shell  with  passionate 
interest.  I  could  distinctly  see  the  two  passenger- 
baskets  under  the  balloon  part  of  the  Zeppelin.  Sud- 
denly, just  as  the  shells  began  to  fall  near  the  Zeppelin, 


FRANCIS  JAQUES,  '03  31 

it  disappeared  out  of  the  beam  of  light,  and  that  was 
the  last  I  saw  of  it,  while  over  the  city  we  could  dis- 
tinctly hear  the  roar  of  the  motors,  like  a  train  of  cars 
in  the  distance. 

About  5  A.M.  the  "  pompiers  "  went  about  to  let 
people  know  that  all  the  Zeppelins  had  gone  off.  I  am 
sorry  that  they  did  not  bring  at  least  one  of  them  down 
to  earth  to  put  with  the  other  trophies  at  the  Inva- 
lides.  Of  course,  the  shots  fired  at  them  while  there 
over  the  city  were  more  to  drive  them  off,  than  to  bring 
them  down,  as  it  would  have  been  dangerous  to  have 
brought  down  a  "  160  metres'^  Zeppelin  on  the  roofs. 


AT  THE  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 
HOSPITAL 

IN  the  spring  of  191 5  an  opportunity  was  pre- 
sented to  the  Harvard  Medical  School  to  provide 
a  Surgical  Unit  for  a  three  months^  term  of  service 
at  the  American  Ambulance  Hospital  in  Paris.  One 
American  medical  school,  that  of  the  Western  Re- 
serve University  in  Cleveland,  was  represented 
there  by  such  a  unit,  from  January  to  April,  under 
Dr.  George  W.  Crile.  Units  from  other  schools 
were  to  follow.  The  University  had  no  free  funds 
available  for  a  purpose  so  remote  from  the  usual 
objects  of  expenditure.  Through  the  generosity  of 
Mr.  William  Lindsey,  of  Boston,  not  a  graduate  of 
Harvard,  who  placed  the  sum  of  $10,000  at  the  dis- 
posal of  the  Corporation  for  the  cost  of  this  humane 
service,  the  University  was  enabled  to  undertake  it. 
In  March  a  well-equipped  Unit  of  surgeons  and 
nurses,  with  Dr.  Harvey  Cushing,  Moseley  Pro- 
fessor of  Surgery,  as  surgeon-in-chief,  and  Dr. 
Robert  B.  Greenough,  Assistant  Professor  of  Sur- 


ROBERT  B.  GREENOUGH,  '92  33 

gery,  as  executive  officer,  set  sail  for  France.  Two 
letters  from  Dr.  Greenough,  some  passages  from 
the  diary  kept  by  Dr.  Gushing  during  his  term  of 
service,  and  a  passage  from  a  letter  of  Dr.  George 
Benet,  reveal  something  of  the  circumstances  and 
value  of  the  work  in  which  this  Unit  was  engaged. 

Paris,  April  8,  191 5.^' 
I  HAVE  been  waiting  until  we  should  get  a  little  organ- 
ized to  write  to  you  and  report  on  our  journey  and 
arrival  here.  We  came  through  with  very  Httle  diffi- 
culty, and  reached  Paris  on  the  morning  of  the  ist  of 
April.  The  only  misfortune  we  had  at  all  was  that 
some  of  our  personal  baggage  was  left  behind  in  Spain 
and  has  not  yet  reached  us,  but  we  are  still  hopeful. 
The  crossing  was  comfortable  and  interesting,  but  we 
saw  nothing  exciting  until  we  were  held  up  by  a 
torpedo  boat  off  Gibraltar. 

We  came  at  once  to  the  Hospital  on  reaching  Paris 
and  took  over  the  University  Service  of  one  hundred 
and  sixty-two  beds,  which  at  that  time  contained  one 
hundred  and  sixty  patients. 

The  Cleveland  people  had  all  gone  but  one,  as  they 
had  to  get  a  steamer  at  Liverpool  on  the  31st.    We 
have  four  nurses  and  five  house  officers  living  in  the 
^  From  Harvard  Alumni  BuUetin,  April  28,  1915. 


34    AMERICAN  AMBULANCE  HOSPITAL 

Hospital;  the  rest  of  us  are  in  a  pension  in  Passy, 
about  twenty  minutes'  walk.  We  are  very  comfort- 
ably installed  in  what  under  ordinary  conditions  is  a 
girls'  school.  We  have  the  house  to  ourselves,  an  Amer- 
ican lady  and  her  French  husband  take  very  good  care 
of  us,  and  we  feel  that  we  have  fallen  on  our  feet. 

I  am  in  charge  of  the  General  Service,  and  Dr.  Cush- 
ing  is  taking  on  the  nerve  cases  which  are  quite  numer- 
ous, I  should  say  thirty  or  thirty-five  at  present, 
although  not  many  of  them  are  immediately  operable. 
Dr.  Osgood,  who,  as  you  know,  specializes  in  ortho- 
pedics, has  found  a  great  many  cases  which  he  is 
interested  to  work  over,  and  the  rest  of  us  have  our 
hands  full  with  the  regular  work. 

The  shipment  of  supplies  which  left  Boston  the  week 
of  March  7  began  to  arrive  in  Paris  yesterday,  so  that 
we  expect  to  receive  dressings  regularly  from  now  on. 
We  had  to  buy  a  certain  number  of  instruments  and 
special  apparatus,  white  hospital  clothes,  and  labora- 
tory outfit.  We  have  not  yet  got  our  anaesthesia  appa- 
ratus working,  but  things  are  progressing.  Everyone 
has  been  very  cordial  to  us,  and  they  seem  ready  to  do 
anything  we  ask  to  make  us  comfortable. 

The  experience  is  extraordinarily  interesting,  and  I 
feel  that  it  has  been  worth  while  to  come  over  for  what 
we  have  already  had.  .  .  . 


ROBERT  B.  GREENOUGH,  '92  35 

Strong  leaves  us  Saturday  or  Monday  and  we  shall 
miss  him  sorely.  He  has  helped  us  to  get  the  labora- 
tory equipped,  and  Benet  and  Rogers  will  carry  on  the 
work  under  his  general  outKne;  but  I  wish  we  could 
have  kept  him  longer,  although  the  work  he  goes  to  in 
Serbia  is  of  infinitely  greater  importance;  he  is  appar- 
ently to  have  charge  of  the  whole  commission  which 
includes  a  large  group  of  EngHsh  and  French  medical 
men,  in  addition  to  the  men  from  home.  .  .  . 
Sincerely  yours, 

Robert  B.  Greenough. 

FROM  DR.  CUSHING'S  DIARY 

Saturday,  April  24,  1915.^ 
La  Chapelle 
Some  time  since,  I  followed  for  you  as  well  as  I  could, 
the  blesses  from  the  Posle  de  Secours  to  the  Gare  Regu- 
lalrice,  and  this  afternoon  in  response  to  a  call  to  the 
Ambulance  for  all  of  our  many  cars,  I  went  with  them 
to  La  Chapelle,  the  present  Paris  distributing  station. 

It  was  very  funny  —  our  start.  We  had  been  at 
work  all  the  morning,  and  about  1.30 1  learned  by  mere 
chance  from  Dr.  Gros  that  there  was  such  a  call,  and 
expressed  a  desire  to  go  down  with  the  Ambulance 

^  From  Harvard  Alumni  Bulletin,  May  26,  1915. 


36    AMERICAN  AMBULANCE  HOSPITAL 

drivers,  and  he  said  I  might  go  in  his  motor,  which 
would  be  better,  but  that  we  must  leave  about  2.00  — 
the  train  was  due  at  2.30  —  and,  moreover,  that  I  had 
better  stop  at  our  lodgings  and  put  on  my  uniform,  for 
most  of  us  have  provided  ourselves  with  the  Hospital 
khaki  uniforms  which  they  like  to  have  us  wear  more 
than  we  do.  There  was  room  for  another,  so  B — 's 
eager  face  left  no  question  as  to  who  should  go.  We 
had  lunch,  learning  there  that  Gros  had  been  detained 
so  that  we  were  to  go  in  a  militarized  car  with  a  Mr. 
Lemoyn  instead. 

Well,  by  this  time  B —  had  secured  an  excited  per- 
mission from  O —  to  borrow  his  uniform,  and  we  left 
for  163  bis  Ave.  V.  H.  B —  dashed  in,  unlocking  the 
gate  and  front  door  as  though  the  house  were  afire  — 
found  Mrs.  0 —  and  Miss  H —  quietly  playing  duets 
on  the  piano,  breathlessly  commandeered  Dr.  O — 's 
uniform,  for  they  were  waiting  for  us  in  a  motor  and 
we  were  due  at  the  station  at  2.30,  and  were  going  to 
Neuve  Chapelle,  and  there  was  no  time  to  lose.  Well, 
there  was  much  scurrying,  for  the  ladies  thought  at  the 
very  least  that  we  had  been  summoned  to  the  line  to 
operate  upon  some  generalissimo,  and  B —  himself,  at 
this  stage,  had  a  very  confused  idea  of  what  and  where 
La  Chapelle  was.  He  got  into  0 — 's  uniform  by  magic, 
over-large  and  over-long  as  it  was,  and  was  ready  by 


HARVEY  GUSHING,  M.D.,  '95  37 

the  time  I  could  get  on  my  ambulance  overcoat  and 
put  on  some  heavy  boots,  for  it's  still  raw  and  wet  here- 
abouts. And  so  we  sallied  out,  but  before  we  had  gone 
a  block,  off  flew  B — 's  cap,  which,  after  its  rescue,  was 
strapped  under  his  chin,  and  without  further  incident 
we  reached  the  station,  way  across  Paris  at  the  north- 
east edge  of  the  city. 

Red  Gross  ambulances  of  every  pattern,  and  from 
a  great  many  hospitals,  were  being  picked  up  from  all 
sides  as  we  neared  our  destination  —  a  rather  unusual 
sight  here  at  mid-day,  as  the  authorities  do  not  like  to 
have  the  recent  wounded  going  through  the  street  by 
day  even  though  it  be  in  closed  cars,  and  the  larger 
number  of  our  admissions  as  a  matter  of  fact  occur  in 
the  late  hours  or  at  night. 

It  was  a  very  impressive  sight.  A  large,  high  build- 
ing, once  a  freight-shed,  I  presume,  possibly  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  feet  long,  has  been  transformed  for  the 
present  purpose,  and  the  train  runs  in  on  a  single  track 
behind  a  curtained-off  side  of  the  building  —  cur- 
tained off  by  a  heavy  black,  huge  canvas  curtain,  which 
opens  at  one  place  through  which  the  wounded  suc- 
cessively come  —  first  the  petits  blesses,  on  foot,  then 
the  men  in  chairs,  then  the  grands  blesses,  on  stretchers. 

The  impressive  thing  about  it  is  that  it  is  all  so  quiet 
—  people  talk  in  low  voices  —  there  is  no  hurry,  no 


SS    AMERICAN  AMBULANCE  HOSPITAL 

shouting,  no  gesticulating,  no  giving  of  directions  — 
nothing  Latin  about  it  whatsoever.  And  the  line  of 
men,  tired,  grimy,  muddy,  stolid,  uncomplaining, 
bloody;  it  would  make  you  weep.  Through  the  open- 
ing in  the  curtain  through  which  you  could  see  one  of 
the  cars  of  the  train,  they  slowly  emerged,  one  by  one, 
cast  a  dull  look  around,  saw  where  they  were  to 
go  —  and  then  doggedly  went,  one  after  the  other,  each 
hanging  on  to  his  little  bundle  of  possessions;  many  of 
them  Arabs,  though  for  the  most  part  downright 
French  t3^es.  Those  with  legs  to  walk  on  had  heads 
or  bodies  or  arms  in  bandages  or  slings,  to  hurriedly 
apply  which  day  before  yesterday  uniforms  and  sleeves 
had  been  ruthlessly  slit  open.  Not  a  murmur  —  not  a 
grunt  —  limping,  shuffling,  hobbling  —  in  all  kinds  of 
bedraggled  uniforms  —  whether  the  new  grey-blue 
ones,  or  the  old  dark  blue  and  red-trowsered  ones  — 
home  troops  or  African  Zouaves,  and  occasionally  a 
marine;  for  they  too  have  been  in  the  trenches  of  late. 
The  procession  wound  directly  by  us,  for  the  Ameri- 
can Ambulance  drivers  are  privileged  to  go  into  this 
part  of  the  shed,  owing  to  their  known  willingness  to 
lend  a  hand.  They  were  sitting  in  a  quiet  group,  evi- 
dently moved,  though  many  of  them  had  been  through 
the  Marne  days  when  cattle  trains  would  come  in  with 
wounded  on  straw,  without  food  or  water  for  two  or 


HARVEY  GUSHING,  M.D.,  '95  39 

more  days  —  stinking  and  gangrenous.  Things  of 
course  are  very  different  now,  and  here  at  La  Chapelle 
where  Dr.  Quenu,  of  Hopital  Cochin  reputation,  has 
finally  gotten  a  very  perfect  system  arranged,  out  of 
the  demoralization  of  those  days  when  any  system 
would  have  broken  down. 

It  has  been  only  two  days  since  these  fellows  were 
hit,  and  many  of  them,  regarded  as  sitting  cases,  have 
stuck  it  out  and  thought  they  could  walk  off  the  train; 
but  not  all  could.  One  poor  boy  collapsed  before  us, 
and  they  put  him  on  a  stretcher  and  took  him  to  the 
emergency  booth.  Others  had  to  be  helped,  as  they 
walked  on  between  the  two  rows  of  booths  to  the 
farther  end  of  the  building,  where  were  two  large 
squares  of  benches,  arranged  in  a  double  row  about  an 
open  perforated  iron  brazier  in  which  a  warm  charcoal 
fire  was  glowing;  for  as  I've  said,  it's  a  cold,  raw,  and 
drizzly  afternoon.  There  was  a  separate  table  for  the 
slightly  wounded  officers,  of  whom  there  were  some  six 
or  eight. 

The  wounded  all  have  their  tags  dangling  from  a 
button  somewhere  —  a  tag  from  the  Poste  de  secours, 
another  from  the  Ambulance  de  premiere  ligne,  and 
possibly  one  or  two  more,  indicating  where  they  have 
been  stopped  for  a  dressing  —  and  in  addition,  on  the 
train,  to  save  trouble,  each  has  been  chalked  some- 


40    AMERICAN  AMBULANCE  HOSPITAL 

where  on  his  coat  with  a  big  B  (blesse)  or  M  (malade) 
so  that  they  can  be  sorted  readily.  The  booths  of 
which  I  have  spoken  and  into  which  the  stretcher  cases 
are  distributed  are  merely  little  frame  —  perhaps  card- 
board—  houses,  five  or  seven  in  all,  occupying  the 
farther  half  of  the  building.  Each  has  a  different  color 
—  red,  green,  yellow,  grey,  brown. 

It  was  soon  whispered  about  that  this  lot  had  come 
from  Ypres,  and  that  they  had  all  suffered  greatly  from 
some  German  gaz  asphyxiant,  but  I  hardly  believed  the 
tale,  or  thought  I  had  misunderstood,  until  this  even- 
ing's communique  bears  it  out.  Many  of  them  were 
coughing,  but  then  most  of  the  wounded  still  come  in 
with  a  bronchitis.  We  have  heard  rumors  for  some 
days  of  a  movement  of  German  troops  in  the  direction 
of  Ypres,  and  this  attack  is  apparently  the  result  —  an 
attack  against  a  weak  spot  at  the  junction  of  the  Eng- 
lish left  and  the  Franco-Belgian  lines,  as  I  understood 
it  —  hence  these  French  wounded  from  the  English 
section.    But  this  will  clear  up  tomorrow. 

The  Httle  houses  of  varied  colors  were  all  very  neat 
in  appearance,  and  were  surrounded  by  palms  and 
green  things,  so  that  the  place  was  quite  attractive,  and 
by  the  time  the  wounded  were  all  out,  many  Red  Cross 
nurses  were  giving  them  hot  soup  and  other  things, 
ending  up  with  the  inevitable  cigarette.   The  men  were 


HARVEY  GUSHING,  M.D.,  ^95  41 

quiet,  immovable,  sitting  where  and  how  they  first 
slumped  down  on  their  benches.  No  conversation  — 
just  a  stunned  acceptance  of  the  kindly  efforts  to 
comfort  them. 

Meanwhile  Quenu  and  his  assistants  were  going 
about  listing  the  men  and  distributing  them  as  they 
saw  fit  among  the  hospitals  which  had  indicated  the 
space  at  their  disposal.  Our  drivers  had  handed  in  the 
number  of  their  cars  and  the  number  of  patients  th^ 
Ambulance  Hospital  could  take  —  possibly  fifty,  I'm 
not  quite  sure  —  and  we  finally  went  away  with  per- 
haps twenty  —  a  large  proportion  of  the  two  hundred 
and  fifty  who  came  in,  as  a  matter  of  fact. 

I  looked  over  the  hst  of  hospitals  posted  on  the  wall 
with  some  amazement  —  they  were  grouped  under  the 
following  heads : 

1.  Hopitaux  Militaires,  e.  g.,  Val  de  Gr^ce,  etc.;  4 
in  all,  with  their  dependencies. 

2.  Hopitaux  Complementaires  for  each  of  above  4, 
as  at  the  Grand  Palais,  etc. 

3.  Hopitaux  Auxiliaires  de  la  Croix  Rouge;  105 
in  all,  de  la  Societe  de  Secours  aux  blesses  militaires. 

4.  Hopitaux  de  V  Union  des  Femmes  de  France;  86 
in  all. 

5.  Hopitaux  de  V Association  des  Dames  Franqaises; 
99  in  all. 


42    AMERICAN  AMBULANCE  HOSPITAL 

6.  Hopitaux  Independants;  The  English  Hospital, 
Rue  de  Villiers,  L'Ambulance  Americaine  at  Neuilly. 

7.  Hopitaux  et  Hospices  Civils;  25  of  the  Assistance 
Publique,  i.  e.,  the  Civic  hospitals  and  30  of  the 
environmental  towns. 

8.  Convalescents;  10  as  at  the  Ecole  Militaire,  etc. 

9.  Etablissements  de  Voeuvre  d'assistance  aux  con- 
valescents militaires,  etc. 

10.  A  new  list  of  25  additional  hospitals  recently 
added. 

The  numbers  ran  up  to  one  thousand  and  fourteen, 
though  this  is  really  more  than  they  represent,  as  the 
individual  groups  begin  their  enumeration  with  one 
hundreds.  But  there  must  be  at  least  four  hundred  to 
five  hundred. 

Quenu,  though  busy,  was  very  polite  —  they  all  are 
—  and  pretended  he  knew  me,  and  asked  if  I  would 
like  to  see  the  room  where  the  petils  pansements  were 
being  made  —  which  I  did  and  found  a  chance  not  only 
to  lend  a  hand  myself,  but  to  call  on  B —  and  some  of 
the  Ambulance  drivers.  Among  the  several  who  had 
been  singled  out  as  needing  immediate  dressings, 
because  of  pain  or  dislodged  bandages,  or  recent  bleed- 
ing, was  the  poor  boy  we  had  seen  collapse  as  he  walked 
out  of  the  train.  He  had  a  high  fever  and  a  trifling 
bandage  on  his  badly  fractured  arm.    This  was  enough, 


HARVEY  GUSHING,  M.D.,  '95  43 

but  when  the  young  doctor  cut  off  his  six  layers  of 
clothing,  there  was  an  undressed  chest  wound  in  his 
right  pectoral  region,  and  we  sat  him  up  and  found  the 
wound  of  exit  near  the  scapula  in  his  back  —  at  which 
the  boy  said,  ''  Cesl  bon,  je  guerirai.^'  He  was  in  our 
lot,  and  I  saw  him  landed  later  at  Neuilly  spitting 
blood. 

The  evacuation  was  very  orderly  and  quiet  —  the 
drivers  got  their  slips  at  the  bureau,  and  the  color  of  the 
houses  where  they  would  find  their  man,  and  each 
answered  to  his  name  when  it  was  called  out,  and  was 
carried  away  to  the  waiting  ambulance  and  slid  in  — 
three  in  each  Ford  car  for  the  couche  patients  —  men 
on  their  faces  or  their  backs,  some  propped  up  on  pil- 
lows and  knapsacks  —  any  position  to  find  a  spot  to 
lie  on  that  didn't  hurt  —  but  not  a  complaint  or  a 
groan. 

When  we  got  back  to  the  Ambulance  the  air  was  full 
of  tales  of  the  asphyxiating  gas  which  the  Germans 
turned  loose  on  the  men  Thursday  —  but  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  get  a  straight  story.  A  huge,  rolling,  low-lying 
greenish  cloud  of  smoke  with  yellowish  top,  began  to 
roll  down  on  them  from  the  German  trenches,  fanned 
by  a  steady  easterly  wind.  At  the  same  time  there  was 
a  terrific,  heavy  bombardment.  The  smoke  was  suf- 
focating and  smelled  to  one  like  ether  and  sulphur, 


44    AMERICAN  AMBULANCE  HOSPITAL 

to  another  like  a  sulphur  match  times  one  thousand  — 
to  still  another  like  burning  rosin.  One  man  said  that 
there  were  about  one  thousand  Zouaves  of  the  Batail- 
lon  d'Afrique  in  the  lines,  and  only  sixty  got  back  — 
either  suffocated  or  shot  as  they  clambered  out  of  the 
trenches  to  escape.  Another  of  the  men  was  "  au 
repos  "  5  km.  away,  and  he  says  he  could  smell  the  gas 
there.  He,  with  his  fellows,  was  among  those  of  the 
reserves  who  were  called  on  to  support  the  line,  but  by 
the  time  they  got  up,  the  Germans  were  across  the 
canal,  having  effectively  blown  up  their  smudge.  They 
seem  to  have  been  driven  out  later,  or  at  least  these 
men  thought  they  had  been.  We'll  have  to  await  the 
official  communiques,  and  perhaps  not  know  even  then. 
In  any  event,  there's  the  devil's  work  going  on  around 
Ypres,  and  the  heralded  "  spring  drive  "  seems  to  have 
been  initiated  by  the  Germans. 

We  got  back  in  time  to  see  the  men  brought  in,  and 
when  I  finally  got  up  to  our  operating  room  —  lo  and 
behold  —  there  was  B — ,  getting  his  photograph  taken, 
his  cap  still  strapped  down,  and  filling  0 — 's  uniform 
as  best  he  could. 


ROBERT  B.  GREENOUGH,  '92  45 


ANOTHER  LETTER  FROM  DR.  GREENOUGH  1 

The  American  Hospital  of  Paris, 

Section  for  the  Wounded, 

May  22,  1915. 

On  reaching  Paris,  April  ist,  the  Harvard  Unit  took 
over  a  service  of  one  hundred  and  sixty-two  beds  in  the 
American  Ambulance.  Since  that  time,  other  beds 
have  been  added  to  the  service  until  we  now  have 
something  over  one  hundred  and  ninety  beds.  For  a 
week  or  so  after  we  first  came,  not  all  the  beds  were 
filled,  but  for  the  last  three  weeks  we  have  had  practi- 
cally no  empty  beds.  Thirty-three  cases  in  twenty- 
four  hours  is  the  largest  number  of  admissions  we  have 
had,  and  sixteen  major  operative  cases  has  been  our 
heaviest  operative  day. 

The  virulent  infections  with  gas-producing  organ- 
isms, of  which  there  were  a  number  of  cases  early  in 
April,  have  become  less  common  as  the  season  ad- 
vanced and  warm  and  dryer  weather  followed  the  cold 
and  rainy  period  of  the  early  spring.  Most  of  our 
cases  reach  us  on  the  second  or  third  day  after  injury. 
The  wounds  are  usually  infected  when  we  get  them. 
In  April  almost  every  wound  showed  gas-bacilli,  on 

^  From  Harvard  Alumni  Bulletin,  June  23,  1915. 


46    AMERICAN  AMBULANCE  HOSPITAL 

culture.  In  May  the  proportion  of  such  cases  has 
fallen  off  materially.  At  present  the  ordinary  pus- 
producing  organisms  are  the  ones  most  commonly 
found  in  cultures  of  fresh  wounds.  Almost  every 
wound  contains  more  or  less  of  the  clothing  of  the  sol- 
dier, carried  in  by  the  missile,  but  the  wounds  pro- 
duced by  shell  fragments  are  more  frequently  contami- 
nated in  this  way  than  the  bullet  wounds.  The  bullet 
wounds  are  the  most  common  injuries,  followed  closely 
by  wounds  from  shell  fragments.  Shrapnel  injuries  are 
much  less  common. 

Soldiers  severely  wounded  in  head,  spine,  or  abdo- 
men, are  not  easily  transportable,  and  therefore  do  not 
reach  the  base  hospitals  like  this  one.  Most  of  our  cases 
are  penetrating  or  perforating  wounds  of  the  soft  parts, 
with  or  without  bone  injuries.  The  bone  cases  are 
among  the  worst  with  which  we  have  to  deal.  A  septic 
compound  fracture  of  such  long  bones  as  the  humerus 
or  the  femur  is  a  very  difficult  case  to  handle.  In 
almost  every  case  the  bone  is  shattered  into  many  little 
pieces,  and  these  bone  fragments  are  driven  into  the 
tissues  in  every  direction  and  act  like  foreign  bodies,  to 
prevent  healing  until  they  are  removed.  We  have  been 
greatly  helped  in  our  work  on  these  cases  by  plaster 
and  metal  splints  devised  for  each  individual  case  by 
Dr.  Osgood. 


ROBERT  B.  GREENOUGH,  '92  47 

Up  to  May  20th,  including  the  cases  we  took  over 
when  we  first  came,  we  have  had  three  hundred  and 
seventy  cases  on  our  service.  We  have  had  three 
deaths,  (i)  brain  abscess  and  meningitis,  (2)  perfora- 
tions of  the  lung  and  hemorrhage,  and  (3)  diffuse  per- 
forative peritonitis;  the  last  case  died  ten  minutes 
after  entrance  to  the  hospital.  .  .  . 

Among  the  most  interesting  operations  have  been 
cerebral  cases  upon  which  Dr.  Gushing  operated.  In 
two  of  these  cases  he  was  able  to  remove  shell  frag- 
ments from  the  brain,  by  use  of  the  electro-magnet. 
Dr.  Gushing  had  also  two  cases  of  peripheral  nerve 
injury,  one  a  plastic  upon  the  facial  nerve,  and  another 
upon  the  muscuio-spiral. 

Dr.  Vincent  has  had  one  case  for  transfusion  at  this 
hospital,  and  demonstrated  his  method  of  performing 
this  operation;  also  at  Dr.  GarreFs  Hospital  in  Gom- 
piegne.  There  have  been  other  cases  in  this  hospital 
on  other  services  where  Dr.  Vincent's  apparatus  has 
been  used.  Dr.  Osgood  has  had  a  number  of  ortho- 
pedic cases  for  operation,  lengthening  tendons,  and  so 
on,  and  has  contributed  very  materially  to  the  success 
of  the  general  service  by  devising  and  applying  appara- 
tus for  retaining  the  position  of  difficult  compound 
fractures.  On  the  general  service,  we  have  had  a  num- 
ber of  bone  cases  for  operation,  plating  fractures  of  the 


48    AMERICAN  AMBULANCE  HOSPITAL 

femur,  tibia  and  jaw,  and  a  plastic  on  a  jaw  with  the 
insertion  of  a  bone  graft  from  a  rib.  We  have  been 
very  fortunate  so  far  in  that  we  have  had  no  cases  that 
required  amputation  on  our  service,  and  no  cases  of 
secondary  hemorrhage  have  occurred,  although  both 
conditions  are  ordinarily  to  be  expected  in  a  service 
such  as  this. 

The  moral  and  physical  condition  of  the  French 
soldiers  has  made  a  very  favorable  impression  upon  all 
of  us.  Some  of  the  wounded  reach  us  in  a  state  of  very 
great  physical  and  mental  depression.  This  is  not 
unnatural  under  the  circumstances,  in  spite  of  the  very 
excellent  system  of  hospital  trains  which  has  been 
established  by  the  French  Government  for  the  trans- 
port of  wounded  from  the  evacuation  hospitals  to  the 
base  hospitals.  These  trains  are  well  equipped  for 
ambulatory  and  stretcher  cases,  and  are  used  exclu- 
sively for  this  service;  they  arrive  in  Paris  at  the 
freight  station  at  La  Chapelle,  as  a  rule,  sometime  in  the 
night.  The  station  has  been  equipped  with  portable 
houses  erected  on  the  platform,  and  a  competent  staff 
of  orderlies,  surgeons  and  nurses  is  on  hand  to  take  the 
wounded  from  the  train,  feed  them,  do  emergency 
dressings,  and  attend  to  their  distribution  among  the 
many  miHtary  hospitals  in  and  about  Paris.  The  dis- 
tribution of  these  cases  is  accomplished  in  a  very 


ROBERT  B.  GREENOUGH,  '92  49 

orderly  manner,  and  the  whole  system  of  handling  the 
wounded  even  under  stress  is  working  well.  We  were 
told  that  two  thousand  wounded  were  brought  to  Paris 
by  these  trains  in  one  twenty-four  hour  period  after 
the  fighting  at  Ypres. 

There  are  many  Red  Cross  Hospitals  in  operation  in 
Paris,  beside  the  American  Ambulance,  although  that 
is  the  largest  one  outside  of  the  regular  French  Mili- 
tary Hospitals.  The  Russians  and  the  Japanese  have 
each  a  hospital  in  Paris,  and  the  English  have  a  large 
hospital  at  Versailles.  Most  of  the  EngHsh  wounded, 
however,  are  now  evacuated  to  the  Channel  ports  and 
carried  immediately  to  England.  We  have  about  eight 
English  in  the  American  Ambulance,  and  almost  all  are 
cases  that  have  been  in  the  hospital  for  a  long  time. 
An  American  from  the  Foreign  Legion  was  brought  to 
the  hospital  the  other  day.  The  vast  majority  of  our 
cases,  however,  are  French,  with  a  few  Turcos  and 
Sengalese. 

The  attitude  of  the  French  Medical  Officers,  and  of 
the  Government,  toward  the  American  Ambulance  is 
most  cordial,  and  its  work  is  held  in  high  esteem  by  the 
soldiers  as  well  as  by  the  public. 


50    AMERICAN  AMBULANCE  HOSPITAL 

FROM  GEORGE  BENET,  M.D.  '13 

Another  letter  from  a  member  of  the  Harvard 
Unit  at  the  American  Ambulance  Hospital,  George 
Benet,  M,D.  '13  (Univ.  of  Va.  '06),  illustrates 
points  not  touched  upon  by  Dr.  Greenough  and 
Dr.  Gushing.    A  portion  of  it  follows : 

The  wards  are  beautifully  kept  and  clean:  there  are, 
for  instance,  ''  The  New  York  Ward,"  ''  The  Boston 
Ward,"  "  The  Philadelphia  Ward,"  "  The  Dartmouth 
College  Ward,"  etc.  The  nursing  is  very  well  done. 
Each  ward  is  presided  over  by  a  graduate  nurse,  and  I 
found  many  old  friends,  viz. :  Miss  Jean  Balsilly,  who 
was  my  senior  nurse  at  Roosevelt,  in  New  York,  and 
Miss  Cotter  from  Boston,  etc.  Working  under  these 
heads  are  the ''  auxiliaries,"  and  they  are  as  interesting 
a  lot  as  I  know  of,  made  up  of  actresses,  teachers, 
mothers  of  ^'  enfants  "  at  the  front,  society  girls  from 
London,  Paris,  New  York,  Washington,  Boston,  etc. 
For  instance.  Secretary  McAdoo's  daughter  is  one  of 
the  lot.  There  are  several  titles  here  as  well.  They 
have  to  do  the  most  menial,  and  to  be  frank,  disgusting 
things,  but  they  do  it  cheerfully  and  willingly,  and  are 
very  largely  responsible  for  the  success  and  splendid 
spirit  of  the  place.     Imagine  a  well-known  actress 


GEORGE  BENET,  M.D.,  '13  51 

scrubbing  a  floor !    They  are  terribly  distracting,  I  am 
free  to  state. 

As  to  the  surgeons,  they  are,  with  one  exception, 
Americans  who  have  volunteered.  Dr.  Crile  and 
party  have  just  left.  Each  has  his  own  staff.  The 
orderlies  are  school  boys,  lawyers,  teachers,  etc.  In 
one  ward  we  have  a  well-known  Parisian  artist  and  a 
genuine  Russian  count,  who  salaams  to  us  Hke  a  true 
EK.  Quite  embarrassing !  I  don't  ask  him  to  run  down 
to  the  laboratory  for  this  and  that  —  not  with  a  beard 
like  that!  Not  me.  We  have  over  one  hundred  am- 
bulances, and  some  thirty  cars  for  work  around  the 
city.  Each  car  is  a  gift  and  only  accepted  if  ''  en- 
dowed "  —  gasoline,  repairs,  etc.  These  are  manned 
by  youngsters  and  adventurers  picked  up  from  any- 
where. A  good  many  Harvard  and  Yale  students  are 
in  the  lot.  Very  natty  in  their  khaki  and  puttees.  The 
field  ambulances  are  as  follows  —  80  Fords,  8  Sun- 
beams (English),  a  Pierce-Arrow  (gift  of  George 
Denny's  father-in-law,  and  said  to  be  the  finest  ambu- 
lance on  the  continent.  His  brother-in-law  runs  it). 
There  are  a  dozen  nondescript  things  —  converted 
taxis,  etc.  Of  the  lot,  the  Fords  are  by  far  the  best. 
For  field  work  they  leave  the  Pierce-Arrow  floundering 
like  a  whale  ashore.  They  are  the  wonder  of  the 
French.    Each  Ford  carries  three  wounded  men  be- 


52    AMERICAN  AMBULANCE  HOSPITAL 

sides  the  driver  and  a  helper.  The  Pierce- Arrow  carries 
the  same  number,  and  costs  ten  times  as  much. 

Before  I  forget,  I  want  to  put  in  a  word  for  the  Boy 
Scouts.  Without  them,  I  think  the  war  would  stop. 
You  see  them  everywhere.  Running  elevators,  acting 
as  orderlies,  telephone  exchanges — and  they  also  carry 
despatches  at  the  front.  One  young  Belgian  of  twelve 
was  decorated  with  the  coveted  MiHtary  Cross  by 
King  Albert  for  having  on  four  occasions  slipped 
through  the  German  lines  with  despatches.  He  also 
took  part  in  every  battle  during  the  invasion  of  Bel- 
gium. I  saw  his  photo  —  just  a  spindle-legged  little 
fellow.  I'll  never  laugh  at  Boy  Scouts  again.  Of 
course,  they  would  rather  do  it  than  go  to  school,  but 
at  the  same  time  I  don't  want  to  tackle  the  German 
lines. 

Now  as  to  the  wounded,  or  blesses.  I  hardly  know 
where  to  begin.  They  are  the  most  amazing  patients 
I  have  ever  seen,  accepting  everything  as  a  matter  of 
course.  They  go  into  their  fourth  or  fifth  operation 
with  nothing  more  than  the  inevitable  salute,  and 
"  Ouiy  Monsieur,  merci."  Never  a  grumble  or  com- 
plaint —  always  ready  for  whatever  is  coming  to  them. 
And  God  knows  they  have  had  their  share  before  the 
scalpel  starts.  For  the  most  part  the  wounds  are  head 
and  face  and  foot  wounds,  as  most  of  our  men  come 


GEORGE  BENET,  M.D.,  '13  53 

from  the  trenches.  Of  course  there  are  dozens  of  fright- 
ful compound  fractures,  due  to  falling  buildings  and 
Lord  knows  what,  but  I  was  surprised  at  the  frequency 
of  face  wounds.  These  are  explained  by  the  fact  that 
one  can't  help  peeping  out  now  and  then,  and  also  the 
head  is  more  exposed  to  shrapnel.  The  foot  wounds 
are  due  to  frost  bite  (and  infection  following)  and  to 
the  hand  grenades  thrown  into  the  trenches.  These 
cause  frightful  wounds  —  too  rotten  to  write  about  — 
but  imagine  a  lump  of  lyddite,  or  whatever  it  is,  the 
size  of  a  tennis  ball  going  off  between  your  feet.  As 
usual,  there  is  a  funny  side  to  it,  for  it  seems  the  Ger- 
mans have  never  learned  to  use  the  grenades  properly, 
being  afraid  to  cut  their  fuses  short  enough,  so  the 
French  pick  'em  up  and  throw  them  back!  (Ticklish 
work  1)  At  least  this  is  our  side  of  the  story.  Some  of 
them  were  cut  short  enough.    I  can  testify  to  that! 

The  shrapnel  wounds  simply  defy  description.  Here 
you  see  a  boy  of  eighteen  with  his  lower  jaw,  floor  of 
mouth,  and  half  his  tongue  blown  away.  He  lives,  but 
for  what  ?  Another  young  man  of  twenty-four  with 
both  legs  gone  at  the  thighs,  and  his  right  arm  crippled 
for  life.  And  of  course  the  pitiful  blind !  They,  to  me, 
are  the  worst.  And  the  frightful  and  almost  inevitable 
infections.  You  see,  the  common  history  is  this:  "  Shot 
at  3  A.M.,  March  28.    Very  cold  night.    Raining.    Fell 


54    AMERICAN  AMBULANCE  HOSPITAL 

in  mud  and  not  found  until  2  p.m.  the  next  day.  No 
bath  for  three  months.  Underwear  changed  seven 
weeks  ago."  For  you  can't  be  fastidious  in  the 
trenches;  but  if  you  are  a  Frenchman  you  are  a  fight- 
ing man  that  the  world  can't  beat.  When  asked  what 
he  did  until  found,  the  aforementioned  chap  said: 
"  Smoked  my  peep."  He  had  the  bone  of  his  thigh 
sticking  out  in  the  mud  and  smoked  his  "  peep."  One 
chap  told  a  nurse  today  that  he  saw  his  captain  killed 
(by  shell)  and  his  head  blown  ofif.  When  he  ran  to  him 
his  "  trachea  said  squeak  —  squeak."  I  have  no 
doubt  it  did;  but  imagine  scenes  Hke  that  to  think 
about  the  rest  of  your  life. 


AT  A  FRENCH  HOSPITAL  NEAR 
THE  LINE 

DR.  BENET'S  service  at  the  American  Ambu- 
lance Hospital  in  Paris  continued  through  the 
three  months'  term  of  the  Harvard  Unit.  Again  he 
served  in  France,  with  the  rank  of  Captain,  in  the 
Second  Harvard  Unit,  at  the  2 2d  General  Hospital 
of  the  British  Expeditionary  Force.  But  after  his 
first  term  of  service  in  Paris  he  spent  much  of  July 
and  August,  191 5,  with  Captain  Stanley,  of  the 
Royal  Army  Medical  Corps  in  a  French  Hospital, 
three  miles  from  the  firing  line,  at  Longeuil  Annel, 
in  a  chateau  belonging  to  Mrs.  Chauncey  M. 
Depew  of  New  York.  The  following  letter,  written 
in  July,  1 91 5,  deals  with  his  experiences  there. 

This  letter  will  probably  take  some  time  to  reach  you, 
as  the  mail  goes  into  Paris  from  here  only  when  a  car 
is  sent  in  for  supplies.  I  never  know  when  it  is  going, 
but  will  write  this  and  wait  patiently.  I  came  out  just 
a  week  ago,  and  will  never  regret  having  done  so,  as  I 
think  I  will  have  a  better  chance  here  than  any  place 

ss 


56  AT  A  FRENCH  HOSPITAL 

I  have  seen.  As  I  wrote  you,  the  hospital  is  in  the 
chateau  of  Mrs.  C.  M.  Depew  of  New  York,  and  in- 
cidentally, she  is  a  very  delightful  person.  The  chat- 
eau is  very  old,  dating  back  to  before  Louis  XIV,  and 
was  at  one  time  a  favorite  spot  of  Napoleon's.  It  is 
situated  in  a  very  large  and  beautiful  park  with  acres 
of  lawn,  and  immediately  behind  the  house  proper  is 
one  of  the  most  wonderful  bits  of  forest  I  ever  saw. 
The  house  is  built  around  three  sides  of  a  square,  facing 
the  stables  and  garage,  where  the  ambulances  are  now 
kept — in  addition  to  two  Fords — of  course,  the  "  in- 
evitable Ford ''  —  and  the  machinery  for  lighting,  etc. 
My  own  quarters  are  excellent,  with  even  American 
plumbing  in  the  bathroom.  A  private  bath  in  France 
is  a  seven  days'  wonder! 

We  have  fifty-six  beds,  for  blesses,  and  an  excellently 
equipped  operating  room,  under  the  charge  of  a  Pres- 
byterian Hospital  graduate  of  New  York,  whom  I 
remember  quite  well  when  working  there  in  191 2.  Also 
we  have  a  small,  but  practical  X-ray  apparatus,  which 
is  indispensable  in  localizing  bits  of  shell.  There  are 
two  wards  for  the  wounded,  and  three  rooms  for  offi- 
cers. One  of  these  wards  is  the  old  music  room,  and 
I  am  glad  to  say  I  found  a  large  and  very  fine  pipe- 
organ  still  in  place,  which  adds  quite  a  bit  to  the 
evenings. 


GEORGE  BENET,  M.D.,  '13  57 

The  "  staff  "  consists  of  Dr.  Stanley  and  myself.  He 
is  a  very  young  English  surgeon  (F.R.C.S.,  incident- 
ally), and  an  exceptionally  good  man.  He  has  been 
here  for  eight  months,  and  has  accomplished  a  great 
deal,  I  think,  when  you  consider  the  difficulties  of 
working  without  adequate  assistance  and  facilities. 
Our  operating  room  "  team  "  now  consists  of  Miss 
Balen,  the  Presbyterian  Hospital  nurse,  who  gives  the 
anaesthetics,  Dr.  Stanley  and  myself  at  the  table,  and 
"  Pierre,"  a  soldier  detailed  from  the  ranks  to  help  us 
here.  Owing  to  our  position  here  nearer  the  Hues,  we 
get  a  type  of  case  never  seen  in  Paris,  or  in  any  of  the 
larger  Base  Hospitals.  Also  our  cases  are  in  almost 
every  instance  "  clean,"  which  is  the  exception  in  the 
larger  hospitals  farther  back.  For  instance,  the  last 
two  men  admitted  had  been  wounded  only  one  hour 
and  a  half.  This  makes  the  work  far  more  satisfactory 
and  the  results  better.  Lately  we  have  been  compara- 
tively quiet,  as  activities  along  the  sector  of  the  lines 
we  drain  here  have  slowed  down  for  some  reason.  We 
have  heard  very  little  firing  for  the  last  twenty-four 
hours.  In  consequence  of  this  ''  let-up,"  we  have  had 
a  deluge  of  ofiacers  for  dinner  —  and  what-not  —  for 
several  days.  Yesterday  Lieutenant  Bardet,  son  of 
General  Bardet,  and  Lieutenant  Naxon  rode  over  for 
a  game  of  tennis,  and  defeated  Stanley  and  myself 


58  AT  A  FRENCH  HOSPITAL 

hopelessly.  They  have  been  on  active  service  in  this 
region  for  ten  months,  and  are  not  complaining  of  the 
recent  inactivities.  They  returned  to  the  lines  at  ten 
o'clock.  .  .  . 

As  to  our  position  here:  We  are  just  across  the  Oise 
from  Ribecourt,  and  some  three  miles  from  the  lines. 
If  you  were  here  this  afternoon,  you  would  never  sus- 
pect it,  as  everything  is  as  quiet  as  Walhalla  on  a  Sun- 
day. The  only  ripple  today  was  the  appearance  of  a 
German  monoplane  that  passed  over  us  at  seven 
o'clock  this  morning.  Two  days  ago  there  was  a 
pretty  steady  fight  going  on  a  few  kilometres  up  the 
river,  to  judge  from  the  guns,  and  in  the  night  I  heard 
a  furious  fusillade  of  rifle  fire  over  beyond  Ribecourt. 
This  lasted  a  half  hour,  but  as  we  received  no  call  I 
don't  think  much  damage  was  done.  Yesterday  after- 
noon, while  playing  tennis  we  heard  the  French 
"  75's  "  going  for  twenty  minutes,  but  today  all  is  as 
peaceful  as  the  aforementioned  Walhalla.  However, 
we  manage  to  keep  busy,  as  in  addition  to  the  wounded 
we  have  had  to  assume  the  care  of  the  village  and  of 
Compiegne,  as  of  course  every  available  surgeon  is 
away  "  somewhere  in  France."  As  examples  of  this 
type  of  "  war  surgery,"  we  have  a  little  girl  with  a  bad 
mastoid  that  Stanley  operated  on,  just  before  I  came 
up  here;  and  an  appendix  or  two.    We  are  expecting 


GEORGE  BENET,  M.D.,  '13  59 

an  old  lady  in  tomorrow,  with  what  promises  to  be  gall 
stones,  so  we  have  work  anyhow.  .  .  . 

I  think  I  wrote  you  of  Maxim  Gorky's  son,  who  was 
a  patient  at  the  American  Ambulance  in  Paris,  and 
had  his  right  arm  amputated  some  six  weeks  ago.  I  am 
enclosing  a  letter  I  received  from  him  last  week,  which 
I  received  with  his  photograph.  I  am  going  to  ask  you 
to  keep  it  for  me,  as  I  want  it.  He  wrote  this,  mind 
you,  with  his  left  hand,  and  only  a  few  weeks  after  his 
operation.  He  tried  to  return  to  the  front,  but  was 
refused  because  of  his  amputation.  I  often  wonder  if 
I  am  half  as  good  a  man  as  these  soldiers  one  comes 
in  contact  with  here.    I  doubt  it. 

Tell  A E that  this  chateau  where  I  am  liv- 
ing was  used  by  his  friend  von  Kluck  as  headquarters, 
on  his  advance  into  France,  and,  race  out,  of  France, 
and  that  but  for  a  picture  of  Chauncey  Depew  on  the 
table  in  the  hall,  he  would  have  burned  the  place 
down.  .  .  . 

I  have  not  written  anything  for  a  day,  since  the  last 
paragraph,  and  since  then  I  had  occasion  to  witness  a 
very  interesting  sight.  Late  yesterday  afternoon  a 
French  biplane  passed  over  us  going  toward  the  Ger- 
man lines  to  reconnoitre.  About  a  mile  below  here, 
and  at  a  height  of  about  a  mile,  the  Germans  began  to 
shell  the  machine.    Apparently  it  made  no  difference 


6o  AT  A  FRENCH  HOSPITAL 

whatsoever  to  the  observer,  as  he  kept  right  on  his 
course.  While  looking  at  him,  I  counted  eighteen 
shells,  all  breaking  either  directly  above  him  or  directly 
beneath — but  missing  by  a  wide  margin.  First  I  could 
hear  the  deep  rumble  of  the  gun,  and  then  in  an  instant 
see  the  black  or  light  gray  puff  of  smoke,  followed  in  a 
few  seconds  by  the  sound  of  the  explosion.  I  lay  on 
my  back  on  the  lawn  with  a  pair  of  binoculars  watching 
the  performance,  until  the  biplane  passed  out  of  sight. 
They  seem  quite  used  to  such  sights  here,  as  I  was  the 
entire  audience.  An  old  man  cutting  the  lawn,  paid 
no  attention  whatever.  It  was  very  interesting  to  a 
neophyte  Uke  myself.  .  .  . 


THE  WORK  IN  SERBIA 

ONE  of  the  Harvard  physicians  attached  to  the 
American  Ambulance  Hospital  Unit  when  it 
left  Boston  was  Dr.  Richard  P.  Strong,  Professor  of 
Tropical  Medicine  in  the  Harvard  Medical  School. 
The  Unit  had  not  been  long  in  Paris  when  he  was 
detached  from  service  there  to  direct  the  work  of 
combatting  the  plague  of  typhus  in  Serbia.  Other 
Harvard  physcians  joined  him  in  this  all-import- 
ant enterprise.  One  of  the  them  was  Dr.  George  C. 
Shattuck,  'oi  (m.d.  '05),  a  grandson  of  Dr.  George 
C.  Shattuck,  '31,  a  pioneer  investigator  of  typhus 
in  Europe  as  long  ago  as  1838.  A  letter  from  the 
younger  Shattuck,  written  from  Serbia  in  May  of 
191 5,  is  supplemented  here  by  an  article  he  con- 
tributed to  the  Harvard  Graduates^  Magazine.  Dr. 
Strong's  written  and  spoken  words  have  informed 
many  Americans  regarding  the  work  he  accom- 
plished. The  reports  of  a  younger  colleague,  writ- 
ten on  the  spot  and  soon  after  his  return  from  the 
scene  of  the  Commission's  work,  contribute  to- 
wards a  completion  of  the  inspiring  record. 

61 


62  THE  WORK  IN  SERBIA 

LADY  PAGET  HOSPITAL  i 

Skoplje  (Uskub),  Serbia,  May  ii. 

I  WANT  you  to  know  that  I  am  very  well  and  am  enjoy- 
ing myself  greatly  here.  The  hospital  is  about  a  mile 
and  a  half  from  the  town,  in  the  midst  of  a  green, 
unf enced  valley,  with  low  mountains  to  the  north  and 
south,  and  a  chain  of  snow  peaks  behind  the  hills  to  the 
southwest.  The  hills  are  many-colored,  partly  culti- 
vated, partly  grazing  land.  The  weather  is  beautiful, 
with  bright  sunshine  and  a  soft  mist  on  the  hills.  When 
I  look  out  in  the  morning,  I  see  the  Austrian  prisoners 
in  their  blue-gray  uniforms  doing  the  morning's  work 
outside.  Sometimes  a  clear,  loud  song  rings  out  and 
stops  abruptly.  It  is  the  marching  song  of  a  company  of 
Serbians  out  for  a  hike  across  the  rolling  downs.  There 
is  no  other  word,  because  we  have  no  country  like  it. 
At  the  edge  of  the  slope  where  the  land  falls  off  sharply 
to  the  river,  a  herd  of  cattle  are  grazing,  watched  by  a 
shaggy  leader. 

We  are  living  in  the  end  of  one  of  the  hospital  build- 
ings, of  which  there  are  two,  structures  of  three  stories 
each,  built  for  barracks  by  the  Turks.  Two  hundred 
yards  to  the  north,  facing  them,  is  a  long  row  of  one- 
story  buildings,  used  now  for  storage  and  other  pur- 
^  From  Harvard  Alumni  Bulletin,  June  9,  1915. 


GEORGE  C.  SHATTUCK,  'oi  63 

poses.  They  were  cavalry  barracks.  In  the  centre  of 
these  are  the  offices  and  the  laboratories,  and  behind 
them,  forming  a  quadrangle,  are  four  long  buildings 
with  single  story  and  basement.  Prisoners  who  act  as 
orderHes,  etc.,  live  in  the  basement,  and  above  them, 
in  each  building,  are  two  wards  of  forty-five  beds  each. 
Sellards  [Associate  in  Tropical  Medicine  at  the  Har- 
vard Medical  School]  and  I  have  charge  of  two  such 
wards.  There  are  two  good  graduate  nurses,  or  sisters, 
on  duty  in  each  of  them,  and  they  are  helped  by  some 
of  the  prisoners.  The  wards  are  clean,  the  care  of  the 
patients  all  that  can  be  expected  with  the  small  staff, 
and  we  are  beginning  to  collect  data. 

Typhus  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  diseases  I  have 
ever  seen,  and  there  are  many  problems.  Most  of  the 
patients  have  it,  but  a  few  have  relapsing  fever  or 
other  things. 

I  put  on  a  louse-proof  suit  every  morning,  take  it  off 
before  lunch,  work  in  the  laboratory  until  tea  time,  and 
then  dress  in  another  suit  and  return  to  the  wards. 

Smith,  who  has  charge  here  now,  is  a  very  competent 
London  consultant  of  about  my  age,  I  should  think. 
He  does  an  enormous  amount  of  work  very  quietly  and 
easily,  has  charge  of  two  hundred  and  twenty,  or  two 
hundred  and  thirty,  beds,  and  directs  the  management 
of  the  hospital. 


64  THE  WORK  IN  SERBIA 

I  hope  you  realize  that  this  is  a  very  safe  place  to 
work,  because  the  patients  are  clean  before  we  see 
them. 

RED  CROSS  WORK  IN  SERBIA » 

Dr.  G.  C.  Shattuck,  'oi 
I  HAVE  been  asked  to  write  about  the  work  of  the 
American  Red  Cross  Sanitary  Commission  in  Serbia, 
and,  in  particular,  to  tell  something  of  what  was  done 
by  the  Harvard  men  connected  with  this  Commission. 
It  should  be  understood  that  no  member  of  the  Com- 
mission, except  Dr.  Strong,  knows  exactly  what  was 
done  by  other  members  of  the  Commission,  or  can  form 
a  comprehensive  idea  of  the  work  as  a  whole.  There- 
fore, I  shall  make  a  few  general  statements  about  the 
work,  and  then  proceed  to  describe  some  of  the  things 
which  I  saw  myself. 

Dr.  Strong  was  the  first  member  of  the  Commission 
to  arrive  in  Serbia.  In  April,  a  few  days  after  his 
arrival,  he  organized  an  International  Health  Commis- 
sion, the  orders  of  which  could  be  promptly  enforced  in 
all  parts  of  Serbia.  The  formation  of  such  a  Commis- 
sion was  extremely  important  for  many  reasons,  and 
particularly  to  co-ordinate  the  work  of  the  Serbian 
authorities,  and  of  the  British,  the  French,  the  Rus- 
sians, and  the  Americans,  all  of  whom  were  repre- 
^  From  Harvard  Graduates^  Magazine,  December,  1915. 


GEORGE  C.  SHATTUCK,  ^oi  65 

sented  on  the  Board.  Dr.  Strong,  as  director,  travelled 
constantly  in  order  that  he  might  have  personal  knowl- 
edge of  the  situation  in  all  parts  of  Serbia;  and  he  insti- 
tuted sanitary  work  in  Montenegro  as  well  as  in  Serbia. 

The  American  Red  Cross  Sanitary  Commission  was 
financed  jointly  by  the  Red  Cross  and  by  the  Rocke- 
feller Foundation.  A  group  of  ten  men,  including  Drs. 
r.  B.  Grinnell  and  A.  W.  Sellards,  of  the  Harvard 
Medical  School,  and  myself,  sailed  from  New  York  on 
April  3  and  met  Dr.  Strong  in  Skoplje,  or  Uskub,  as 
the  town  was  called  by  the  Turks,  early  in  May. 
Meanwhile,  Dr.  Strong  had  gathered  up  several  Ameri- 
can doctors  in  Serbia,  and  had  taken  with  him  Mr. 
C.  R.  Cross  from  Paris.  Mr.  Cross  was  a  member  of 
the  Class  of  1903,  and  later  graduated  from  the  Law 
School.  He  offered  to  help  in  any  way  that  he  could. 
He  travelled  for  a  time  with  Dr.  Strong,  then  went  to 
Montenegro  with  Dr.  Grinnell,  and  afterwards  re- 
turned to  Paris,  where  he  was  killed  in  an  automobile 
accident.  1  For  nearly  a  year  before  his  death  Mr.  Cross 
was  in  Europe  working  constantly  with  energy  and 
devotion  to  duty. 

The  first  contingent  of  members  of  the  Commission 
was  followed  by  a  second  group  of  twenty  or  more 
which  arrived  toward  the  end  of  June,  and  several  of 
^  See  pp.  no,  114. 


66  THE  WORK  IN  SERBIA 

these  were  Harvard  graduates.  The  Commission 
included  men  of  various  attainments.  There  were 
sanitary  engineers,  public  health  physicians,  sanitary 
inspectors,  many  of  whom  had  been  trained  under 
General  Gorgas  at  Panama,  and  there  were  practising 
physicians,  and  laboratory  experts,  a  bacteriologist, 
and  a  water  examiner. 

Dr.  Grinnell  was  soon  sent  by  Dr.  Strong  to  take 
charge  of  the  work  in  Montenegro.  Dr.  Zinsser,  of 
Columbia,  was  to  study  typhus  from  the  bacteriolo- 
gical point  of  view,  Dr.  Sellards  was  to  undertake  other 
laboratory  work,  and  it  was  my  privilege  to  study 
typhus  fever  from  the  clinical  standpoint.  We  agreed 
to  work  together  so  far  as  possible,  and  having  found 
in  the  Paget  Hospital  in  Skoplje  a  favorable  oppor- 
tunity for  beginning  work  without  delay,  accepted  the 
invitation  of  the  British  physician  in  charge  to  join  the 
staff  of  that  hospital. 

The  buildings  known  as  the  Paget  Hospital,  or 
"  Shesta  Reserma  Bolnitza  "  (6th  Reserve  Hospital), 
were  used  formerly  for  the  Military  Academy,  and  for 
barracks.  They  are  situated  on  elevated,  rolling 
ground,  about  a  mile  from  the  town  of  Skoplje,  in  the 
midst  of  a  most  beautiful  and  fertile  valley,  bounded  to 
north  and  south  by  rugged  hills,  and  dominated  on  the 
west  by  snow-capped  mountains. 


GEORGE  C.  SHATTUCK,  'oi  67 

I  had  charge  of  two  wards  of  forty-five  beds  each, 
most  of  them  occupied  by  typhus  patients  in  various 
stages  of  the  disease.  Near  the  hospital  were  some 
large  stables,  used  as  a  prison-camp  for  Austrian  sol- 
diers. Nearly  all  the  prisoners  had  had  typhus,  and  a 
very  large  proportion  had  died  of  it.  They  were 
allowed  to  go  freely  about  the  hospital  grounds,  and 
many  of  them  served  as  orderHes  in  the  wards.  Being 
immune  to  typhus  from  having  had  the  disease,  it  was 
not  necessary  to  take  precautions  to  protect  them. 

There  was  a  considerable  nursing  staff  of  English 
sisters,  and  a  few  Serbian  women  worked  in  the  wards. 
In  order  to  protect  themselves  from  the  body  louse 
which  commonly  transmits  typhus,  the  sisters  wore  a 
one-piece  garment  of  white  Hnen,  which  buttoned  across 
the  shoulders,  and  over  this  a  blouse  of  the  same 
material  hanging  to  the  knees.  The  hair  was  carefully 
covered,  the  sleeves  were  held  close  to  the  arms  by 
elastic  bands,  and,  in  order  that  there  should  be  no 
opening  at  the  ankle,  the  legs  of  the  garments  were 
prolonged  into  coverings  for  the  feet.  Over  these  the 
sisters  wore  Turkish  slippers  or  high  leather  boots, 
according  to  the  weather.  I  urged  the  sisters  in  my 
wards  to  wear  rubber  gloves  in  order  to  protect  their 
wrists  more  completely,  and  to  wear  a  strip  of  gauze 
across  the  nose  and  mouth  as  a  mask,  because  I 


68  THE  WORK  IN  SERBIA 

thought  there  was  danger  of  contracting  typhus 
through  the  air  as  a  result  of  the  coughing  of  patients; 
but  the  gloves  were  soon  discarded  as  being  difficult  to 
work  in,  and  the  mask  as  being  too  hot  and  uncom- 
fortable. One  of  the  sisters  contracted  typhus  toward 
the  end  of  the  epidemic,  and  I  think  that  she  got  her 
infection  from  a  very  sick  patient  who  coughed  a  great 
deal,  and  whose  life,  I  think,  she  saved  by  unremitting 
care.  She  recovered  from  the  typhus,  but  suffered 
afterwards  from  distressing  nervous  symptoms  from 
which  it  is  probable  that  she  has  not  yet  fully  re- 
covered. We  physicians  wore  cotton  trousers  with 
feet  attached,  and  rubber  boots.  The  trousers  were 
tied  around  the  waist,  and  the  upper  part  of  the  body 
was  covered  with  a  short  tunic,  tied  below  the  top  of 
the  neck.  Rubber  gloves  were  then  pulled  over  the 
sleeves  of  the  tunic  and  fastened  in  place  with  elastic 
bands  or  adhesive  plaster.  I  used  a  gauze  mask  for  a 
time,  but  gave  it  up  because  the  weather  was  hot  and 
the  mask  slipped  into  my  mouth  when  I  talked.  I  was 
very  careful  not  to  let  a  patient  cough  in  my  face. 

The  appointments  of  the  wards  were  of  the  simplest 
character.  The  toilets  were  managed  by  the  bucket 
system,  there  being  no  plumbing.  Water  for  bathing 
and  other  purposes  was  heated  in  sheet-iron  wood- 
burning  stoves  standing  outside.    When  one  or  two 


GEORGE  C.  SHATTUCK,  'oi  69 

patients  at  a  time  came  for  admission  to  a  ward,  they 
were  stripped,  clipped,  and  bathed  by  the  orderlies 
behind  a  screen  on  the  steps  of  the  pavilion.  When 
large  numbers  of  patients  had  to  be  admitted,  they 
were  sent  to  a  wash-house  where  clipping  and  bathing 
could  be  done  wholesale. 

Before  I  had  been  long  at  the  hospital  a  trainload  of 
patients  arrived  in  Skoplje.  Eighty  of  these  were 
assigned  to  the  Paget  Hospital  and  sent  out  in  car- 
riages, each  vehicle  taking  four  or  five  patients.  They 
were  laid  on  the  grass  outside  the  wash-house,  and 
many,  exhausted  by  the  journey,  required  brandy  or 
other  stimulants  before  being  moved.  Many  others, 
thin  and  haggard,  but  stronger,  straggled  across  the 
grounds  to  the  wards,  attired  in  night-shirt  and  slippers. 
On  that  day,  forty  patients  entered  my  wards  —  a 
number  impossible  for  me  to  examine  with  care.  I 
went  around  the  ward  feeling  the  pulses,  listening  to  the 
hearts,  and  picking  out  the  sicker  patients  for  more  par- 
ticular attention.    The  rest  received  routine  treatment. 

This  particular  group  of  patients  showed  a  peculiar 
cast  of  countenance  which  I  attributed  to  the  fact  that 
they  had  been  for  several  days  on  a  train,  probably 
almost  uncared-for,  with  little  food,  and  insufficient 
water.  The  features  were  pinched,  the  skin  was  dry, 
the  brows  knitted,  and  the  eyes  staring.    Like  most  of 


70  THE  WORK  IN  SERBIA 

the  inhabitants  of  Serbia,  they  were  bronzed  by  the 
sun,  but,  in  spite  of  this,  there  was  a  bright  flush  over 
the  cheek-bones,  a  common  thing  in  typhus  fever. 
These  men  showed  no  emotion  and  little  interest.  The 
predominant  expression  was  not  that  of  resignation, 
but  of  courageous  endurance,  the  most  characteristic 
quality  in  the  Serbian  when  ill,  as  I  have  seen  him.  He 
shows  neither  fear  nor  despair,  and  seldom  indulges  in 
lamentation.  During  convalescence  he  early  takes  an 
interest  in  food,  and  begs  to  be  sent  home  for  "  boli- 
vani,"  that  is,  furlough.  With  return  of  strength  he 
shows  merriment,  geniaHty,  and  humor. 

The  Serbians  have  been  called  the  Irish  of  the  Bal- 
kans, and  one  of  them  had  such  a  genial  smile  that  he 
reminded  me  of  the  song  about  Kelley.  In  one  of  the 
other  wards  there  were  two  patients  with  relapsing 
fever  who  were  taken  sick  at  the  same  time,  who 
entered  together,  and  who  ran  an  exactly  similar 
course  of  fever.  A  rivalry  sprang  up  between  them, 
and  when  one  had  a  sudden  rise  of  temperature  so  high 
that  it  went  off  the  chart,  far  from  viewing  this  with 
alarm,  he  pointed  to  it  with  delight. 

After  about  two  months'  work  at  the  Paget  Hospital, 
Dr.  Sellards  went  to  Belgrade  to  continue  his  studies 
there,  and  a  few  weeks  later,  there  being  very  little 
typhus  at  Skoplje,  I  finished  my  clinical  work,  and 


GEORGE  C.  SHATTUCK,  'oi  71 

went  to  Belgrade  with  Dr.  Strong.  I  stayed  there  for 
a  few  days  at  the  American  Hospital  where  Dr.  Ryan 
is  still  in  charge. 

The  hospital  stands  on  a  hill  at  the  outskirts  of  the 
town,  and  was  respected  by  the  Germans  who  were 
entrenched  across  the  river.  The  town  showed  com- 
paratively Httle  damage,  except  along  the  river  front, 
where  all  buildings,  including  the  barracks,  had  been 
reduced  to  ruins.  The  bridge  across  the  river  had  been 
wrecked,  but  at  that  time  the  batteries  were  exchang- 
ing only  occasional  shots,  none  of  which  fell  in  the 
town.  A  German  aeroplane  made  almost  daily  flights 
in  the  morning  over  Belgrade,  and  was  always  greeted 
by  a  fusillade  of  shrapnel  which,  when  it  burst,  looked 
like  powder  puffs  in  the  sky.  The  shots  were  nearly 
always  wide  of  the  mark. 

One  morning,  however,  the  German  made  three 
trips,  each  time  dropping  bombs  in  the  town.  The 
third  time  he  was  met  by  a  French  plane  which  opened 
fire  upon  him.  Almost  immediately  the  German  began 
to  descend  in  wide  circles,  and  presently  disappeared 
from  my  sight  behind  the  roof  of  one  of  the  hospital 
buildings.  He  must  have  been  wounded,  for  he  sub- 
sequently lost  control  of  his  machine,  and  fell  from  a 
considerable  height  into  the  mud  on  the  bank  of  the 
river. 


72  THE  WORK  IN  SERBIA 

After  leaving  Belgrade  I  went  with  Dr.  Strong  to 
Vallievo  to  inspect  the  graveyard.  There  had  been 
many  Austrian  prisoners  in  ValHevo,  and  the  death- 
rate  from  typhus  among  them  is  said  to  have  reached 
seventy  per  cent.  The  dead  had  been  buried  in  great 
square  pits,  and  insufficiently  covered  with  earth,  so 
that  the  graveyard  became  offensive  to  the  neighbor- 
hood. The  French,  who  were  working  in  Vallievo,  had 
already  carried  out  the  necessary  measures. 

Dr.  Strong  then  asked  me  to  go  to  Pristina  to  super- 
vise sanitary  work  which  was  being  conducted  there  by 
members  of  our  Commission.  They  were  living  in 
tents  in  the  military  reservation,  and  running  a  mess 
of  their  own. 

The  hotels  in  Serbia  are  so  infested  with  bed-bugs 
that  we  avoided  them  whenever  possible,  and  when 
obliged  to  spend  any  length  of  time  in  a  place  we  fumi- 
gated and  cleaned  our  quarters  or  else  went  into  camp. 
The  work  at  Pristina  consisted  in  cleaning  and  dis- 
infection of  hospitals,  the  jail,  some  large  barracks  and 
stables  used  for  quartering  the  soldiers,  disinfection  of 
clothing,  bathing  of  soldiers  and  prisoners,  building 
sanitary  privies,  and  vaccinating  against  typhus  fever 
and  cholera. 

Bathing  and  disinfection  of  clothing  were  carried 
out  by  means  of  converted  refrigerator  cars,  into  one 


GEORGE  C.  SHATTUCK,  'oi  73 

of  which  steam  could  be  turned  to  sterilize  the  clothing 
while  the  men  were  bathing  under  shower  baths  in  the 
other.  This  system  was  first  used  in  Manchuria  by 
Dr.  Strong. 

Pristina  is  not  far  from  Mitravitza,  now  the  tem- 
porary capital.  The  latter  is  situated  at  the  end  of  a 
branch  railway  near  the  border  of  Montenegro.  The 
railway  leaves  the  main  line  at  Skoplje  and  follows  a 
branch  of  the  Vardar  River  through  narrow  mountain 
passes  to  the  great  plain  of  Cosova,  upon  which  the 
Serbians  made  their  last  stand  against  the  Turks  in  a 
great  battle  five  hundred  years  ago.  Pristina  lies  at 
the  foot  of  the  hills  on  the  northern  side  of  the  plain, 
near  where  the  battle  took  place.  The  Serbians  have 
a  very  strong  sentiment  about  this  region,  where  every 
hill  and  piece  of  ground  has  for  them  historic  meaning. 
They  say  that  not  to  have  seen  Cosovo  and  the  old 
church  called  Grachanitza,  in  which  every  soldier  of 
the  Serbian  army  took  communion  before  the  great 
battle  with  the  Turks,  is  not  to  have  seen  Serbia  at 
all. 

After  finishing  the  work  at  Pristina  arrangements 
were  made  for  some  of  our  men  to  go  to  Mitravitza, 
where  Dr.  Osborn,  who  had  recently  received  a  degree 
in  public  health  at  the  Harvard  Medical  School,  took 
charge.    Other  men  went  with  me  to  Prisren,  situated 


74  THE  WORK  IN  SERBIA 

to  the  south  and  east  near  the  border  of  Albania,  and 
fifty  kilometres  from  the  railway.  There  we  set  up  our 
cots  in  a  large,  vacant  room  in  the  barracks  near  the 
town,  and  took  our  meals  at  a  restaurant,  where,  by 
special  arrangement,  we  obtained  an  abundance  of 
fruit  and  vegetables,  a  welcome  change  after  the 
restricted  fare  of  the  springtime. 

The  work  in  Prisren  was  similar  to  that  in  Pristina, 
and  the  authorities,  with  one  exception,  gave  every 
assistance.  The  mayor  of  the  town  was  well  educated 
and  refined.  He  had  been  a  professor  somewhere 
before  entering  on  official  life,  and  was  now  working 
enthusiastically  to  institute  modern  improvements  in 
this  old  town  with  its  narrow,  crooked  streets,  and  its 
jumble  of  primitive  buildings.  Before  the  outbreak  of 
the  present  war  he  had  had  profiles  drawn  of  all  the 
streets  and  had  made  plans  for  straightening  and 
widening  the  principal  thoroughfares.  He  showed  us 
chemical  analyses  of  the  water,  which  came  from 
springs  on  a  hill  above  the  town,  and  wished  to  know 
which  of  the  several  supplies  was  the  best.  One  of  our 
engineers  visited  the  sources,  inspected  visible  con- 
duits, and  made  arrangements  to  have  maps  drawn  of 
the  distribution  of  the  water  from  each  source.  It  was 
also  arranged  that  bacteriological  tests  should  be 
made  at  different  points  along  the  distributing  lines, 


GEORGE  C.  SHATTUCK,  'oi  75 

and  at  the  street-fountains  where  the  water  was 
delivered,  in  order  to  detect  pollution.  The  mayor 
expressed  himself  as  dehghted  with  these  arrangements 
but  owing  to  delays,  almost  impossible  to  avoid  in 
Serbia,  this  part  of  the  work  was  still  unfinished  when 
the  fumigating  and  vaccinating  had  been  completed. 

Toward  the  end  of  August  I  left  Prisren  to  start  for 
home.  I  shall  not  soon  forget  that  beautiful  morning 
of  late  August,  the  soft,  fragrant  air,  the  misty  plain, 
the  wooded  hillside,  the  rugged  mountain-range, 
whitened  by  the  first  snow  of  the  autumn,  and  the 
quaint  old  town  with  the  tall  poplar  trees  around  it, 
the  white  minarets  among  the  red-tiled  roofs,  and  the 
old,  gray  Turkish  citadel  above. 

Dr.  Strong  and  Dr.  Sellards  left  Serbia  a  few  days 
after  I  did,  and  Dr.  Grinnell  a  month  before.  Twelve 
members  of  the  Commission  remained  in  Serbia  to 
prevent  the  spread  of  any  outbreak  of  contagious  dis- 
ease that  might  occur  in  the  coming  winter,  and  to 
complete  some  of  the  more  extensive  engineering 
work.  Mr.  Stuart,  a  Harvard  engineer,  was  left  in 
charge  by  Dr.  Strong.  Most  of  the  others  went  to 
Russia  under  the  leadership  of  Dr.  Caldwell,  to  work 
among  the  German  prisoners  there. 

Dr.  Grinnell  had  a  severe  illness  on  his  way  home, 
and  Dr.  Strong  narrowly  escaped  death  from  a  most 


76  THE  WORK  IN  SERBIA 

dangerous  form  of  malaria,  which  rendered  him  un- 
conscious in  Saloniki  just  before  sailing.  It  seems 
likely  that  he  got  the  malaria  in  Durazzo,  where  he 
had  gone,  at  the  request  of  Essad  Pasha,  to  advise 
about  its  prevention.  At  any  rate,  he  was  exposed  to 
it  there  from  having  lent  his  mosquito  netting  to  a 
woman  in  the  hotel  who  hadn't  any.  No  other  mem- 
bers of  the  Commission,  so  far  as  I  know,  incurred  any 
serious  illness,  and  most  of  them  were  not  sick  at  all. 


WITH  THE  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 
HOSPITAL  MOTORS 

IN  June  of  1915  John  Paulding  Brown,  ^14,  re- 
cently returned  from  Europe,  where  he  had  been 
serving,  first  with  the  American  Citizens'  Relief 
Conmiittee  in  London,  and  then  with  the  motor 
corps  of  the  American  Ambulance  Hospital  in 
France  and  Belgium,  was  asked  by  the  Harvard 
Alumni  Bulletin  to  give  some  account  of  his  experi- 
ences.   He  wrote  as  follows :  ^ 

Harvard  has  been  well  represented  in  France  since 
the  war  began.  Aside  from  the  various  surgical  units 
sent  out  officially  by  the  University  there  have  been  at 
least  two  score  graduates  and  undergraduates  who  at 
one  time  or  another  during  the  winter  have  been  in  the 
service  of  the  American  Hospital  of  Paris. 

Since  September  I  have  been  driving  one  of  the 
ambulances  attached  to  this  hospital,  working  with  the 
British  and  French  armies. 

On  September  7  we  made  the  first  of  a  series  of 
interesting  trips  into  the  environs  of  Paris,  following 
^  In  Harvard  Alumni  Bulletin,  June  23,  1915. 
77 


78  WITH  AMBULANCE  MOTORS 

up  the  armies  as  they  advanced  toward  the  Aisne.  For 
several  weeks  we  were  busy  along  the  Marne  gathering 
in  wounded  and  bringing  them  back  to  Paris,  till  the 
battles  rolled  away  so  far  that  it  was  impossible  to  get 
any  wounded  men  back  to  Paris. 

Then  came  a  period  of  three  months  with  the  British 
in  northern  France,  at  Neuve  Chapelle,  and  in  Janu- 
ary we  were  first  attached  to  the  8th  French  Army, 
operating  in  Belgium. 

Probably  the  most  interesting  period  of  all  began  in 
April,  when  we  were  first  sent  to  Ypres  to  do  the  work 
of  a  section  of  military  ambulances  which  had  been 
ordered  to  another  part  of  the  Hne.  We  were  attached 
to  a  field  hospital  estabHshed  in  a  little  chateau  near 
Ypres,  and  here  we  stayed  for  several  weeks,  until  a 
shell  hit  the  hospital  one  night  and  we  had  to  move  the 
entire  outfit. 

During  these  weeks  at  the  "  petit  chateau,"  as  it 
was  universally  called,  we  worked  chiefly  at  night, 
going  to  the  first  field  dressing  stations  and  bringing  up 
the  men  who  had  been  hit  during  the  day.  These 
dressing  stations  were  always  placed  in  some  con- 
venient farmhouse  close  to  the  front.  At  one  place,  we 
had  to  pass  within  four  hundred  yards  of  the  German 
trenches  to  reach  one  of  them.  We  always  waited  until 
it  was  dark,  and  then,  one  by  one,  we  would  start  ofi  for 


JOHN  PAULDING  BROWN,  '14  79 

the  dressing  stations.  The  roads  in  the  region  near 
the  trenches  are  in  bad  shape,  being  continually  under 
shell  fire,  and  as  we  could  not  have  any  lights,  driving 
was  often  very  difficult.  Several  of  the  cars  tumbled 
into  shell  holes,  and  one  time  we  had  to  abandon  a  car 
for  two  days  as  the  enemy's  fire  made  it  impossible  to 
work  on  it  by  daylight.  However,  considering  that  our 
cars  were  doing  the  same  work  which  in  other  parts  of 
the  line  was  done  by  horse-drawn  ambulances,  we  were 
unusually  fortunate.  Our  American  cars  were  the  only 
motor  vehicles  which  ever  travelled  along  these  roads. 

The  men  whom  we  picked  up  at  the  dressing  stations 
were  carried  back  about  two  miles,  well  out  of  rifle- 
fire,  to  the  divisional  field  hospitals.  Here  they  could 
be  operated  on,  if  necessary,  before  being  sent  along 
another  six  miles  to  the  town  from  which  the  hospital 
trains  started. 

Almost  every  night  we  found  wounded  German  pri- 
soners at  the  field  dressing  stations,  and  those  men 
were  treated  with  every  consideration  by  the  French 
surgeons.  All  the  time  I  was  there  I  never  saw  any- 
thing but  the  most  generous  treatment  of  prisoners. 
The  French  were  splendid  in  the  way  they  looked  after 
wounded  Germans,  drenched  as  they  were  in  the  blood 
of  Frenchmen.  To  the  army  surgeons  all  wounded  are 
alike. 


8o  WITH  AMBULANCE  MOTORS 

I  remember  particularly  a  German  who  was  brought 
in  one  evening  by  one  of  our  cars.  He  had  been  lying 
between  the  trenches  for  four  days,  and  was  captured 
when  the  French  advanced  that  afternoon.  Four  days 
and  three  nights  in  the  open,  under  a  pouring  rain, 
with  a  fractured  thigh  and  two  serious  wounds  on  his 
head,  had  not  overcome  this  soldier;  he  lay  perfectly 
still  on  the  operating  table  and  never  murmured  while 
they  cut  off  his  clothes.  It  was  always  like  this;  the 
German  wounded  were  close  rivals  to  the  French  in 
the  way  they  took  their  pain. 

After  each  attack  our  work  naturally  increased,  and 
at  such  times  as  during  the  big  attacks  of  April  we 
were  kept  busy  night  and  day.  On  April  24  the  poison 
gas  was  first  used  against  the  French;  our  little  chateau 
was  full  to  overflowing  for  six  days,  and  several  nights 
the  grounds  of  the  place  were  covered  with  stretchers 
on  which  lay  the  victims  of  the  gas,  coughing,  and 
gasping  for  breath,  soaked  through  after  hours  of  rain. 
But  by  morning  they  would  be  all  cleared  away;  except 
those  who  stayed  in  the  orchard  behind  the  chateau 
under  rows  of  Httle  wooden  crosses.  And  then  each 
evening  it  would  begin  all  over  again.  This,  however, 
was  only  the  situation  in  times  of  very  heavy  fighting. 

No  one  can  go  to  France  without  coming  back  filled 
with  admiration  for  the  way  the  nation  is  behaving 


JOHN  PAULDING  BROWN,  '14  81 

during  these  tragic  days.  Every  man  and  woman  in 
the  country  seems  to  be  fired  with  a  holy  zeal  for  a  war 
which  for  them  is  one  of  liberty  or  of  annihilation. 
They  are  fighting  off  the  invader,  and  a  defeat  m.eans 
the  downfall  of  everything  they  hold  worth  while  in 
life.  So  they  set  themselves  to  the  task  with  a  reso- 
lute sternness  which  is  magnificent  to  see,  confident  of 
final  victory,  and  with  it  an  enduring  peace  for  France 
and  for  all  of  Europe. 

A  FRENCH  LANDSCAPE 

The  period  covered  by  the  preceding  report  —  that 
of  the  first  spring-time  in  France  at  war  —  is 
vividly  illustrated  in  a  passage  from  another  am- 
bulance driver,  Dallas  D.  L.  McGrew,  '03,  to  a 
friend  and  teacher  in  Cambridge.  Here  the  coun- 
try-side, with  its  scenes  of  peace  persisting  through 
the  sounds  of  warfare,  is  spread  before  the  seeing 
eye. 

This  morning,  Sunday  the  14  Mars,  two  of  the  boys 
and  I  took  a  walk  out  of  the  St.  Just  en-chaussee  road, 
North-East,  to  see  some  newly  made  trenches.  The 
country  is  exactly  like  the  Valley  of  Virginia,  lacking 
only  the  marginal  mountains — fertile  and  splendidly 
tilled.    Five  kilometres  out  of  Beauvais  in  the  middle 


82  WITH  AMBULANCE  MOTORS 

of  a  swell  of  ploughed  land  were  the  deadly  ditches, 
wattle-walled,  with  latrines,  drains,  covered  rest- 
rooms,  and  emplacements  for  mitrailleuses.  A  hundred 
metres  oJBf  they  are  practically  invisible  in  the  sprout- 
ing wheat.  It  was  warm  and  misty,  the  rhythmic  line 
of  trimmed  slender  trees  along  the  Amiens  road  quite 
dim,  and  wooded  hills  here  and  there  faint  blue  in  the 
landscape.  Ploughing  was  going  steadily  on  against 
the  sky-lines,  and  the  whole  tender  world  was  flooded 
by  the  songs  of  larks,  singing  almost  frantically.  Along 
the  straight  road  passed  an  occasional  hooded  cart 
with  good  country  people  tous  en  dimanches,  and  ob- 
viously in  the  state  that  R.  L.  S.  called  "  sabbatical 
vacuity,"  and  consciously  virtuous  and  contented.  But 
all  the  while  you  could  hear  a  deep  periodic  grumbling, 
way  off  to  the  eastward,  that  sounded  like  the  mutter- 
ing of  a  storm.  It  was  the  big  guns  near  Roye  and 
Lassigny,  twenty-five  miles  over  the  waking  fields  — 
almost  inconceivable  —  a  strange  mixture  of  heaven 
and  hell.  Within  a  few  days  now  we  may  move  up  to 
it,  and  then  it  will  be  feverish  work,  mainly  at  night, 
driving  up  unlighted  roads  to  the  field  dressing  stations, 
getting  our  gruesome  cargoes  and  wallowing  back  — 
dodging  ammunition  trains  of  charging  great  motors, 
as  well  as  hurrying  columns  of  infantry  and  artillery  — 
hub-deep  in  mud,  blindly,  to  the  evacuation  hospitals 


DALLAS  D.  L.  McGREW,  '03  83 

Sit  the  nearest  railway  point.  Over  and  over  again  till 
daylight,  when  we  shall  sleep,  patch  our  racked  ambu- 
lances, refill  with  oil  and  essence,  and  prepare  for  the 
next  night's  work!  It's  inglorious,  unseen  drudgery, 
and  wholly  necessary.  There's  no  place  in  it  for  the 
man  who  wants  a  personally  conducted  tour  of  the 
battle-fields,  or  a  sight  of  the  locked,  fighting  men. 
But  for  the  man  who  is  ready  to  help,  obscurely,  but 
faithfully,  we  have  great  need,  as  well  as  for  more  cars. 


THE  AMERICAN  VOLUNTEER  MOTOR- 
AMBULANCE  CORPS 

THOUGH  the  motor  corps  of  the  American 
Ambulance  Hospital  in  Paris  has  received  the 
service  of  a  greater  number  of  Harvard  men  than 
any  other  single  agency  of  relief,  there  has  been 
since  the  early  months  of  the  War  an  entirely 
separate  organization,  the  American  Volunteer 
Motor- Ambulance  Corps,  which  has  owed  its  exist- 
ence and  conduct  to  a  single  Harvard  man,  Richard 
Norton,  '92,  and  has  made  for  itself  and  its  director 
an  enviable  record.  This  corps  began  its  work 
under  the  joint  auspices  of  the  British  Red  Cross 
and  the  St.  John  Ambulance.  It  was  thus  primarily 
an  offering  of  American  aid  to  the  English  cause. 
As  the  War  proceeded,  it  became  desirable,  under 
the  British  Army  regulations,  to  transfer  the  asso- 
ciation of  the  corps  to  the  American  Red  Cross,  and 
to  place  its  service  at  the  disposal  of  the  French 
Army.  It  is  now,  therefore,  a  militarized  corps 
serving  a  definite  division  of  one  of  the  armies  of 

84 


RICHARD  NORTON,  '92  85 

France.  Mr.  Norton  has  received  the  Croix  de 
Guerre  for  the  work  he  has  done,  and  after  the 
Champagne  battle  of  September,  191 5,  was  men- 
tioned in  the  following  terms  in  the  orders  of  the 
day  in  the  French  Army  corps  to  which  his  ambu- 
lance service  is  attached: 

Richard  Norton,  adjoint  au  Commandant  de  la 
Section  Sanitaire  Anglo-Americaine  pendant  las 
combats  du  25  Sept.  et  des  jours  suivantes,  a  fait 
preuve  du  plus  grand  devouement  et  du  plus  beau 
courage,  en  conduisant  lui-meme  ses  voitures  de 
jour  et  de  nuit  dans  les  zones  dangereuses  et  en 
donnant  a  toute  sa  section  Fexample  d'une 
endurance  poussee  jusqu'  a  I'epuisement  de  ses 
forces, 

(Signe:)  Le  Gen'l.  Com.  la  2me  Armee. 

Petatn. 

A  short  and  a  long  letter  to  his  brother,  Eliot 
Norton,  '85,  present  a  picture  of  a  single  day's  work 
and  a  review  of  what  the  corps  accomplished  in  the 
course  of  its  first  year,  and  especially  in  the  battle 
which  brought  forth  the  recognition  just  cited.  A 
later  recognition,  appearing  among  the  ''  Citations 
a  rOrdre  de  T Armee  ^'  in  Le  Gaulois  for  July  10, 


86  MOTOR-AMBULANCE  CORPS 

1 916,  had  reference  to  the  work  of  the  corps  as  a 
whole.    It  read  as  follows: 

La  Section  Sanitaire  Automobile  Americaine, 
No.  7,  (sous  les  ordres  de  son  chef,  M.  Norton,  a 
fait,  depuis  plus  de  vingt  mois,  constamment 
preuve  de  I'esprit  de  sacrifice  le  plus  complet. 
A  rendu  les  plus  grands  services  a  la  division  a 
laquelle  elle  est  attachee  en  assurant  la  releve  des 
blesses  dans  les  meilleures  conditions.  II  n'est 
plus  un  seul  de  ses  membres  qui  ne  soit  un  modele 
de  sang-froid  et  d'abnegation.  Plusieurs  d'entre 
eux  ont  ete  blesses). 

June  7,  1915. 

The  biggest  battle  I've  yet  seen  is  under  way,  and  we 
are  in  the  thick  of  it.  It  is  now  8  a.m.  and  I've  been 
here  since  4.  The  French  are  pounding  the  bottom 
out  of  the  world  in  front,  and  the  Boches  are  doing  their 
best  to  reply.  I  write  at  the  dug  out  at  the  entrance 
to  the  trenches  where  the  wounded  wait  for  us.  Bat- 
teries are  around  us  and  along  the  road  we  follow  to 
the  hospital.  One  is  some  fifty  yards  from  the  dug 
out,  and  the  Boches  are  trying  to  find  it  —  not  entirely 
unsuccessfully,  for  about  fifty  yards  from  us  there  has 
just  fallen  a  shell. 


RICHARD  NORTON,  '92  87 

We  have  three  groups  of  four  cars  out  on  this  work 
today;  the  others  are  doing  the  regular  evacuations 
and  service  de  garde  —  so  we  are  furiously  occupied. 
Back  again  from  the  hospital  and  waiting  for  the  car 
to  be  loaded.  It  is  a  wonderful,  brilliant  summer  day, 
but  a  strange  haze  from  the  bursting  shells  and  torn 
earth  hangs  heavily  over  the  fields.  The  roads  are 
hidden  in  the  clouds  of  dust  raised  by  the  constant 
tramp  of  thousands  of  men  and  by  the  shells  of  the 
ammunition  wagons.  There  are  some  mules,  too, 
bringing  up  the  mitrailleuses. 

Later.  Things  are  going  well.  We  have  taken  three 
trenches  and  there  are  pas  mat  de  prisonniers.  The 
poor  wounded  men  we  carry  are  amazingly  patient  and 
uncomplaining.  In  fact,  almost  the  only  ones  who  even 
murmur  are  those  who  have  gone  out  of  their  minds, 
and  there  are  but  few  of  these.  The  prisoners  look  a 
bit  cast  down,  but  otherwise  bear  themselves  like  men 
and  are  treated  absolutely  well.  Only  one  seemed 
scared,  and  he  was  a  boy,  and  wounded  at  that:  he  felt 
better  when  I  told  him  nobody  wanted  to  scalp  him. 

We  are  under  a  tree  now  surrounded  by  a  group  of 
some  twenty  women  of  the  village,  stretcher-bearers, 
and  the  doctor  who  manages  our  dug  out.  The  bom- 
bardment is  lessening  and  there  are  no  wounded  for 
the  moment. 


88  MOTOR-AMBULANCE  CORPS 

A  couple  of  batteries  of  big  guns  (220)  are  booming, 
and  their  shells  shudder  over  our  heads.  It's  curious 
to  note  the  different  sound  different  sized  shells  make. 
These  "  220's  "  sound  exactly  like  a  big  Catherine  wheel 
when  it  begins  to  revolve  —  the  same  jirky  whirr.  If 
you  are  sufficiently  near  you  don't  notice  this,  as  I 
perceived  this  morning  when  one  that  was  hidden  not 
fifteen  feet  from  the  road  I  was  travelling  went  off 
exactly  as  I  passed.  I  thought  the  Boches  had  got  me. 
Taken  all  in  all,  it  is  the  most  tremendous  and  interest- 
ing and  horrible  spectacle  one  could  imagine.  Over- 
head the  aeroplanes,  surrounded  by  the  beautiful, 
long-lasting  puffs  of  heavy  white  smoke,  the  horizon 
line  a  few  kilometres  away  —  one  long  string  of  black 
or  white  geysers  of  smoke  according  to  the  sort  of  shell 
that  explodes,  and  nearby  the  volleying,  booming, 
whirring  batteries,  the  ambulances,  the  fresh  and  the 
tired  troops,  the  uncomplaining,  pain-sick  wounded, 
and  the  magnificent,  cool,  patient,  heroic  doctors. 
The  Devil  take  the  Boches,  but  I  feel  man  is  a  pretty 
fine  piece  of  work. 

10  P.M.  Back  again  to  our  home  camp  at  Baizieux, 
all  safe  and  sound,  rather  to  my  surprise,  as  we  had  a 
decidedly  sultry  time  this  afternoon.  As  a  memento 
I  have  a  large  hunk  of  a  shell  which  exploded  just  over 
the  roof  of  the  dug  out  while  I  was  inside.    For  some 


RICHARD  NORTON,  '92  89 

hours  the  shells  were  going  off  all  round  us  making  us 
run  for  the  dug  out  if  near  enough,  and  do  a  powerful 
lot  of  trying  to  shrink  up  if  we  were  a  few  yards  too  far 
off  to  do  the  rabbit  trick.  One  of  the  cars  got  hit  by  a 
bit  of  spHntered  wood.  That  was  the  only  real  casu- 
alty, though  some  of  the  cars  suffered  from  being  kept 
going  too  many  hours  without  a  stop. 

I  must  stop  now  and  arrange  for  tomorrow  when  we 
shall  probably  be  very  busy  again,  though  doing  the 
night-work.  Tonight  we  were  relieved  by  some  French 
cars.  We  are  all  all  right,  but  I  want  some  more 
volunteers. 

p.s.  Have  just  got  our  lists  in,  and  find  we  carried 
just  over  six  hundred  today. 

LaCroix,  Champagne, 
October  14, 191 5. 

My  dear  Eliot:  You  will  know  by  this  time  from 
letters  I  have  written  to  L — ,  that  we  have  been  in  the 
midst  of  the  Champagne  battle,  and  you  will  easily 
imagine  that  there  has  been  no  time  to  write  to  you  any 
careful  account  of  our  work,  such  as  I  now  wish  to  do. 
For  the  moment  the  nth  Corps  is  en  repos,  after 
having  borne  the  brunt  of  the  fighting,  so  that  we  have 
a  few  days  in  which  to  rest  ourselves,  fix  up  the  cars, 
and  gather  together  various  loose  ends  of  work. 


go  MOTOR-AMBULANCE  CORPS 

As  it  is  just  a  year  since  the  Corps  came  into  being,  it 
is  worth  remembering  what  we  started  from  and  what 
we  have  developed  into.  Notwithstanding  errors  of 
judgment  or  accidents,  we  have  accompKshed  good 
work.  A  year  ago  we  started  from  London  with  our 
cars,  and  not  much  more  than  hope  for  a  bank  balance. 
We  were  wanderers  searching  for  work.  During  this 
year  we  have  grown  into  a  corps  consisting  now  of  some 
sixty  cars,  to  which  the  St.  John  Ambulance  and  Red 
Cross  Societies  render  any  assistance  we  ask,  and 
instead  of  wondering  where  we  were  to  find  occupation 
the  French  authorities  have  intrusted  us  with  the  whole 
ambulance  service  of  the  nth  Army  corps.  .  .  .  We 
have  carried  during  the  year  just  under  twenty-eight 
thousand  cases,  and  during  the  days  from  the  25  th 
of  September  to  the  9th  of  October,  our  cars  relieved 
the  sufferings  of  over  six  thousand  individuals.  .  .  . 

You  have  been  kept  fairly  well  informed  of  the 
general  course  of  our  work  through  the  summer.  Our 
last  very  busy  time  was,  as  you  know,  at  Hebuterne. 
This  was  followed  by  some  weeks  of  less  exciting,  but 
equally  necessary,  work.  In  the  middle  of  August  we 
were  ordered  from  the  region  of  Amiens  to  Chalons- 
sur-Marne,  where  the  recent  fine  advance  has  been 
made.  The  work  here,  owing  to  the  nature  of  the 
country  is  much  more  difficult  than  it  was  before.    It 


RICHARD  NORTON,  '92  91 

is  a  chalky,  deserted  region,  with  but  few  poverty- 
stricken  villages.  In  large  measure  these  were  entirely 
or  mostly  destroyed  during  the  Battle  of  the  Mame. 
For  this  reason  the  housing  of  the  volunteers,  and  the 
garaging  of  the  cars  is  by  no  means  easy  to  arrange. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  cars  stand  in  the  open  fields  or 
in  the  pine  woods,  where  aeroplanes  cannot  see  them, 
and  at  present  all  our  men  are  under  canvas. 

An  account  of  what  we  have  had  to  do  since  the 
Battle  of  Champagne  began  will  make  clear  to  you  the 
general  circumstances  of  our  work,  the  irregularities  of 
it,  the  difficulties  of  it,  and  the  satisfaction  of  it.  For 
some  weeks  before  the  recent  battle  began,  we  knew 
from  all  sorts  of  evidence  that  a  big  movement  was  on 
foot.  The  movements  of  troops  by  night  and  day,  the 
great  numbers  of  aeroplanes  and  captive  balloons,  and 
general  rumor,  all  pointed  to  this.  It  was  not,  how- 
ever, until  we  were  sent  from  the  region  of  Amiens  to 
this  district  that  we  knew  where  the  attack  was  to  be 
made.  And  it  was  not  until  we  had  been  some  three 
weeks  stationed  within  a  few  miles  of  the  line  here, 
that  we  had  any  inkhng  as  to  exactly  when,  or  at 
exactly  what  spot,  the  blow  would  be  delivered. 

For  two  weeks  before  the  battle  began  we  had  been 
stationed  at  Somme  Vesle,  a  small  village  some  fifteen 
miles  behind  the  trenches.    When,  however,  we  were 


92  MOTOR-AMBULANCE  CORPS 

sent  forward  our  base  became  the  village  of  La  Croix 
in  Champagne,  where  two  large  hospitals  had  been 
erected.  Seven  of  the  ambulances  were  stationed  here 
to  do  the  work  of  these  hospitals,  two  others  were 
placed  at  Somme  Tourbe  where  are  other  hospitals, 
and  where  the  trains  come,  five  were  sent  to  La  Salle, 
a  village  beyond  Somme  Tourbe,  one  to  St.  Jean  still 
nearer  the  lines,  and  finally  two  groups  of  seven  each 
(afterwards  increased  to  ten  or  more  according  to  the 
needs)  were  sent  to  the  woods  where  we  camped  out  in 
tents  and  dug  outs  and  carried  the  wounded  of  the 
2ist  and  22nd  Divisions  from  trenches  Nos.  7  and  5, 
which  had  been  dug  for  the  purpose  of  bringing  them 
out  of  the  firing  line. 

The  whole  countryside  had  been  most  carefully  pre- 
pared. One  main  road  had  been  cut  from  St.  Jean  over 
the  rolling  chalk  hills  to  the  villages  of  Herlus  and 
Mesnil,  which  were  between  the  French  batteries  and 
the  front  trenches,  and  from  which  other  roads  ran 
further  north.  Besides  this  main  road,  there  were 
many  tracks  and  trails  over  the  chalk  desert,  and  these, 
as  the  days  passed,  became  more  and  more  clearly 
marked.  This  main  road  and  the  tracks  were  all  very 
well  while  the  weather  was  good,  but  the  instant  the 
rain  began  to  fall,  which  it  did  the  first  day  of  the  bat- 
tle, and  continued  off  and  on  for  many  days,  they 


RICHARD  NORTON,  '92  93 

became  as  near  impassable  as  could  be.  It  was  not 
only  the  enormous  amount  of  traffic  which  made 
driving  difficult,  but  the  sHghtest  rain  turns  this  chalky 
soil  into  a  mixture  so  slippery  that  a  car  standing  quiet 
on  the  crown  of  the  road  would  not  infrequently  slide 
gently  but  surely  into  the  gutter,  which  was  of  course 
deep  in  mud.  At  night  we  had  to  drive  without  lights, 
which  increased  our  difficulties.  That  none  of  the 
ambulances  were  bagged  or  seriously  injured  speaks 
well  for  the  driving  of  both  volunteers  and  chauffeurs. 

Besides  the  making  of  the  road  above  mentioned, 
which  is  called  the  Piste  Grosetti,  narrow-gauge  rail- 
ways had  been  laid  to  carry  munitions  and  other  sup- 
phes  to  the  fighting  line,  and  for  miles  the  land  was 
scored  with  deep-dug  trenches.  These  had  been  placed 
most  carefully,  so  that,  for  example,  the  ^'  brancar- 
diers  "  brought  the  wounded  from  the  firing  Hne  by  one 
trench  and  returned  by  another.  All  praise  should  be 
given  these  brancardiers,  who  for  the  first  days  had 
often  to  bring  the  wounded  on  stretchers  or  two- 
wheeled  "  brouettes  "  several  kilometres.  After  the 
first  day  we  began  to  push  the  ambulances  further  to 
the  front,  for  the  roads  and  trails  were  no  longer  under 
rifle  fire,  though  subjected  to  frequent  sheUing.  For 
three  days  before  the  25th  of  September  an  incessant 
cannonade,  continued  by  night  and  day,  showed  that 


94  MOTOR-AMBULANCE  CORPS 

the  region  round  Tahure  was  the  one  selected  for 
attacking  the  Germans.  It  was  on  the  twenty-fourth 
that  we  received  final  orders  to  move  up  to  the  lines, 
and  to  station  our  cars  at  the  field  hospitals  and  the 
trenches.  We  sorted  out  the  cars  and  men  according 
to  their  various  capacities  for  the  work,  as  far  as  we 
could  foresee  it.  I  took  one  group  on  the  night  of  the 
twenty-fourth  up  to  the  lines.  The  other  trench  group 
was  in  charge  of  Messrs.  J.  B.  Barrington  and  J.  H. 
Phelps,  two  splendid  workers  and  delightful  gentle- 
men, and  while  during  the  following  days  I  kept  an  eye 
on  their  group  as  well  as  on  my  own,  I  did  so,  not 
because  of  the  faintest  lack  of  confidence  in  their 
management,  but  merely  because  I  was  responsible,  of 
course,  for  the  general  running  of  the  work,  and 
because  I  talk  French  more  easily  than  they  do.  But 
even  on  the  days  when  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  see 
them,  I  never  had  the  slightest  feeling  that  they  would 
not  manage  as  well  as  was  humanly  possible. 

Before  we  actually  took  up  our  positions  I  had  been 
over  the  ground  to  get  the  lay  of  the  land,  to  see  where 
the  various  trails  —  they  were  scarcely  more  —  led  to, 
in  order  to  know  how  best  to  direct  the  ambulances  on 
their  various  errands.  The  country  was  absolutely 
packed;  I  can  scarcely  find  any  word  to  suggest  a 
picture  of  how  packed  it  was  with  troops  and  munition 


RICHARD  NORTON,  ^92  95 

trains.  There  was  every  sort  and  description.  On  the 
rolling  land,  over  which  the  trenches,  cut  in  through 
chalk  soil,  ran  Hke  great  white  snakes,  the  batteries  of 
every  sized  gun  were  innumerable.  I  cannot  tell  you 
how  many  guns  there  were,  but,  in  a  radius  of  half  a 
mile  from  where  my  ambulances  stood  the  first  night, 
there  were  at  least  a  dozen  batteries  of  various  cali- 
bres, and  they  were  no  thicker  there  than  anywhere 
else.  We  tried  to  sleep  on  the  stretchers  for  an  hour 
or  two  before  dawn  of  the  twenty-fifth,  but  when  you 
have  a  battery  of  "  150's  "  coughing  uninterruptedly 
within  less  than  one  hundred  yards  of  where  you  are 
resting,  to  say  nothing  of  other  guns  to  right  and  to 
left  of  you,  one's  repose  is  decidedly  syncopated.  On 
the  morning  of  the  twenty-fifth  the  cannonade 
slackened,  and  we  knew  afterwards  that  the  three 
previous  days'  work  had  battered  the  German  Hues 
into  a  shapeless  mass,  and  that  the  French  infantry 
had  made  good  the  chance  they  had  been  patiently 
waiting  for  all  summer  of  proving  to  the  world  their 
abihty  to  beat  the  Germans. 

It  is  curious  to  reaUze  how  Httle  one  knew  of  what 
was  going  on,  though  one  was  in  the  midst  of  the  fight- 
ing. Even  the  soldiers  could  tell  you  practically 
nothing.  We  could  only  judge  from  scattered  bits  of 
evidence,  such  as  the  movements  of  the  balloons  and 


96  MOTOR-AMBULANCE  CORPS 

batteries,  that  everything  was  going  well,  as  you 
already  know  by  the  newspapers  it  did.  It  is  enter- 
taining to  read  the  accounts  of  one  or  two  newspaper 
correspondents  who  were  allowed  after  the  fight  to  go 
over  the  won  trenches.  One  of  these  wrote  an  account 
in  the  London  Morning  Post,  that  in  a  way  was  very 
good,  but  no  one  of  us  who  was  here  all  through  the 
battle  thought  it  took  place  as  the  correspondent 
described  it.  He  certainly  speeded  things  up  con- 
siderably. We  are  in  no  position  to  tell  what  troops 
did  the  best  work,  but  every  one  knows  that  the 
Colonials  under  General  Marchand  did  splendidly,  as 
did  the  nth  corps  which  was  along  side  them. 

It  is  curious  that  only  three  or  four  incidents  of  the 
twelve  hard  days'  work  stand  out  clearly  in  my  mind. 
The  rest  is  but  a  hazy  memory  of  indistinguishable 
nights  and  days,  cold  and  rain,  long  rows  of  laden 
stretchers  waiting  to  be  put  into  the  cars,  wavering 
lines  of  less  seriously  wounded  hobbling  along  to 
where  we  were  waiting,  sleepy  hospital  orderlies,  dark 
underground  chambers  in  which  the  doctors  were 
sorting  out  and  caring  for  the  wounded,  and  an  unceas- 
ing noise  of  rumbling  wagons,  whirring  aeroplanes, 
distant  guns  coughing  and  nearby  ones  crashing,  shells 
bursting  and  bullets  hissing.  Out  of  this  general 
jumble  of  memory  one  feature  shines  out  steadily  clear; 


RICHARD  NORTON,  '92  97 

it  is  of  the  doctors.  Patient,  indefatigable,  tender, 
encouraging  and  brave  in  the  most  perfect  way,  they 
were  everywhere  in  the  forefront  and  seemingly  knew 
not  what  fatigue  meant.  There  were  the  two  divi- 
sional doctors,  Vachaise  and  Couillaud,  who  besides 
attending  to  their  manifold  duties  did  everything  pos- 
sible to  render  our  work  successful.  There  were  MM. 
Nieger  and  Daunoy,  heads  of  the  hospitals  at  Croix  in 
Champagne  and  Somme  Tourbe,  who  saw  to  it  that  at 
any  hour  of  the  day  or  night  there  was  something  hot 
for  us  to  eat  and  drink  and  looked  after  any  of  us  who 
were  knocked  up.  There  was  M,  Deschamps  who 
helped  Barrington  and  Phelps.  Then  there  was 
L'hoste,  my  friend  of  Hebuterne  days,  who  with  his 
corps  of  assistants  and  brancardiers  was  always 
encouraging  his  men,  who  were  in  danger  the  whole 
time,  by  an  example  of  cool  courage  and  inteUigent, 
quick  work  that  could  not  be  surpassed.  If  the  nurses 
are  the  angels  of  this  war,  these  doctors  are  the  apostles 
"  who  lift  up  this  world  and  carry  it  to  God."  Doubt- 
less there  are  others  on  the  other  side  of  the  Hne,  but 
those  mentioned  I  have  seen  and  known. 

One  of  the  incidents  I  have  referred  to  which  stands 
out  clearly  in  my  mind  is  of  a  nightmare  drive  to 
Herlus.  I  received  orders  late  one  evening  to  take  two 
cars  to  this  village  at  i  a.m.    Not  being  able  to  find  the 


98  MOTOR-AMBULANCE  CORPS 

divisional  doctor  to  tell  him  that  I  considered  it  impos- 
sible to  take  ambulances  by  night,  without  lights,  in 
the  pouring  rain  over  the  shell-holed  road  which  led  to 
the  village,  I  had  to  try  it.  Mr.  Joseph  Whitwell  with 
his  car  and  chauffeur  accompanied  me.  On  my  car, 
I  had  George  Tate,  a  most  capable  man.  As  he  is  a 
better  driver  than  I  am,  he  held  the  wheel  while  I  (so 
it  seems  now)  spent  my  whole  time  wading  through 
knee-deep  mud  trying,  by  the  faint  light  of  an  electric 
lamp,  to  find  the  way  round  shell-holes  and  bogs,  or 
pushing  the  car  out  of  the  gutter.  It  shows  how  diffi- 
cult the  journey  was  that  to  cover  the  six  kilometres 
there  and  back  took  us  two  hours  and  a  half.  We  had 
the  satisfaction  of  getting  the  wounded  safely  to  the 
hospitals,  and  perhaps  it  was  not  entirely  low-minded 
of  us  to  be  pleased  next  morning  when  we  heard  that 
some  French  cars  had  refused  to  make  the  same 
journey. 

Another  very  distinct  memory  is  of  a  morning  spent 
with  Mr.  Joseph  Phelps  in  a  dug  out  at  Perthes,  the 
village  where  the  advanced  French  lines  were  the  first 
day.  We  had  been  sending  cars  to  the  village  for  two 
or  three  days,  though  the  Germans  still  occasionally 
shelled  it,  but  one  evening,  hearing  they  had  begun 
again,  I  had  a  strong  feehng  that  the  position  I  had 
picked  for  the  cars  was  insecure.    It  was  all  right  for 


RICHARD  NORTON,  '92  99 

the  men  who  could  go  to  earth,  but  they  couldn't  take 
the  cars  with  them,  and  our  service  would  have  been 
hampered  had  the  latter  been  blown  up.  So  at  dawn 
Phelps  and  I  took  the  ambulance  down  to  the  village, 
and  left  it  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  outside  the  ruins 
of  the  place,  where  the  banks  of  a  trench  gave  it  some 
protection.  Then  we  walked  down  to  the  poste  de 
secours  to  tell  the  doctor  in  charge  where  the  car  was 
to  be  found  when  he  needed  it.  There  were  one  or  two 
sHghtly  wounded,  and,  while  we  were  waiting  for  others, 
the  Germans  began  to  shell  a  battery  which  was  some 
forty  yards  directly  behind  the  poste  de  secours.  For 
a  short  time  they  threw  small  shells  and  shrapnel  at  us, 
but  as  they  hadn't  got  the  range,  everyone  went  on 
with  his  ordinary  occupations,  the  most  ordinary  being 
rolHng  cigarettes.  In  fact,  if  the  American  Tobacco 
Kings  had  any  sense  of  justice,  they'd  give  me  the  best 
ambulance  to  be  bought  to  make  up  for  the  cigarettes 
we  smoked  that  morning.  It  wasn't  long  before  the 
Germans  corrected  their  range,  and  then  they  began 
to  send  over  big  shells  which  drove  us  rapidly  under- 
ground, blew  up  a  horse  ambulance  just  beside  us, 
filled  the  entrance  to  our  cave  with  dirt  and  spHnters, 
and  made  us  wonder  just  how  long  our  luck  would  last. 
However,  they  did  no  damage  to  the  battery,  which 
continued  to  give  as  good  as  it  got;  so  the  Germans, 


100         MOTOR-AMBULANCE  CORPS 

apparently  tiring  of  the  game,  tried  to  smother  us  with 
gas-shells.  We  fixed  masks  on  the  wounded  and  on 
ourselves,  and  after  about  two  hours  the  Boches  let  up 
and  we  were  able  to  take  a  long  breath  and  express  our 
feeHngs  of  the  man  who  invented  this  dirty  way  of 
fighting.  Nobody  was  really  any  the  worse  for  the  ex- 
perience, though  our  throats  and  eyes  troubled  us  for 
a  day  or  two.  When,  however,  the  chance  came  to  call 
up  the  ambulance  and  take  the  wounded,  I  found  that 
a  large  shell  had  exploded  exactly  on  the  spot  where  on 
the  foregoing  days  I  had  stationed  the  cars.  So  far 
during  this  fight  not  a  car  has  been  injured  by  bullet  or 
shell,  except  one  which  received  a  slight  hole  from  a 
hand  grenade  which  an  over-excited  Frenchman 
threw  down  in  a  stable  yard,  and  thereby  wounded 
some  of  his  companions. 

Still  another  picture  that  rises  in  my  mind,  as  I  write, 
is  of  one  cloudy  morning,  when,  after  a  very  tiring  night, 
I  was  sitting  on  the  roadside  watching  a  rather  heavy 
bombardment  near  by,  and  suddenly  through  the  din 
rose  the  sweet  clear  notes  of  a  shepherd's  pipe.  It  was 
the  same  reed-pipe  I  have  heard  so  often  on  the  hills 
of  Greece  and  Asia  Minor,  and  the  same  sweetly-sad, 
age-old  shepherd  music  telKng  of  Pan  and  the  Nymphs, 
and  the  asphodel  meadows  where  Youth  lies  buried. 
The  piper  was  an  ordinary  piou-piou,  a  simple  fan- 


RICHARD  NORTON,  '92  loi 

tasin,  mon  vieux  Charles,  with  knapsack  on  back,  rifle 
slung  over  his  shoulder  and  helmet  on  head  strolling 
down  to  the  valley  of  death  a  few  hundred  yards 
beyond.  Nor  is  this  the  only  music  I  have  heard. 
One  night  a  violin  sounded  among  the  pines  which 
shelter  our  tents,  and  I  strolled  over  to  find  a  blue-clad 
Orpheus  easing  the  pain  of  the  wounded  and  numbing 
the  fatigue  of  the  brancardiers  with  bits  of  Chopin  and 
Schubert  and  Beethoven. 

Such  are  some  of  the  impressions  of  the  battle  seen 
from  this  side  of  the  line.  Others  I  have  formed  since 
the  main  fight  ceased,  in  the  Hues  previously  held  by 
the  Germans.  I  went  over  some  of  their  trenches  the 
other  day  and  have  never  seen  anything  so  horrible. 
Although,  as  prisoners  have  told  us,  they  knew  they 
were  to  be  attacked,  they  had  no  idea  that  the  attack 
would  be  anything  like  so  severe  as  it  was.  Those  I 
have  talked  to  said  it  was  awful,  and  that  they  were 
glad  to  be  out  of  it.  Their  trenches  were  very  elabor- 
ately constructed,  many  of  the  dug  outs  being  fitted 
up  with  considerable  furniture,  the  dwellers  evidently 
having  no  notion  they  would  be  hurriedly  evicted. 
After  the  bombardment  there  was  nothing  left  of  all 
this  careful  work.  The  whole  earth  was  torn  to  pieces. 
It  looked  as  though  some  drunken  giant  had  driven  his 
giant  plough  over  the  land.    In  the  midst  of  an  utterly 


I02         MOTOR-AMBULANCE  CORPS 

indescribable  medley  of  torn  wire,  broken  wagons,  and 
upheaved  timbers,  yawned  here  and  there  chasms  like 
the  craters  of  small  volcanoes,  where  mines  had  been 
exploded.  It  was  an  ashen  gray  world,  distorted  with 
the  spasms  of  death  —  like  a  scene  in  the  moon.  Ex- 
cept for  the  broken  guns,  the  scattered  clothing,  the 
hasty  graves,  the  dead  horses  and  other  signs  of 
human  passage,  no  one  could  have  believed  that  such 
a  place  had  ever  been  anything  but  dead  and  deso- 
late. The  rubbish  still  remained  when  I  was  there, 
but  masses  of  material  had  been  already  gathered  up 
and  saved. 

The  following  notice,  issued  to  the  army  on  October 
ist  will  give  you  a  notion  of  the  vast  quantities  of 
material  that  were  captured. 

Group  or  the  Armies  or  the  Centre 
{Bulletin  of  Information.    To  he  distributed  to  the  Troops) 

In  the  battles  of  the  25th,  26th,  27th,  and  28th  of  September, 
191 5,  we  took  20,000  prisoners,  of  whom  18,000  were  not 
wounded;  we  captured  from  the  Germans  121  cannon,  of  which 
34  were  of  large  calibre,  without  counting  trench  cannon  (bomb- 
throwers,  etc.). 

These  cannon  will  be  placed  upon  the  Esplanade  of  the  In- 
valides. 

We  have  taken  a  great  number  of  rapid-firing  guns,  and  ma- 
terial of  all  kinds. 

We  will  do  still  better  in  the  future,  and  we  will  gloriously 
avenge  our  dead. 


RICHARD  NORTON,  '92  103 

In  this  notice  no  mention  is  made  of  some  very 
interesting  gas  machines  that  were  taken.  They  were 
of  two  sorts,  one  for  the  production  of  gas,  the  other  to 
counteract  its  effects.  The  latter  were  rather  elaborate 
and  heavy  but  very  effective  instruments  consisting  of 
two  main  parts;  one  to  slip  over  the  head,  protecting 
the  eyes  and  clipping  the  nose,  the  other  an  arrange- 
ment of  bags  and  bottles  containing  oxygen,  which  the 
wearer  inhaled  through  a  tube  held  in  the  mouth. 
There  were  several  forms  of  these  apparatuses,  but  the 
most  interesting  point  to  note  about  them  is  that  one 
had  stamped  upon  it  the  words:  "  Type  of  1914  — 
developed  from  type  of  191 2,  developed  from  type  of 
1908,"  thus  showing  that  seven  years  ago  the  Ger- 
mans! had  decided  to  fight  with  gas. 

Of  the  men  who  were  with  us  during  this  time  it  is 
impossible  to  say  that  one  did  more  than  another.  All 
worked  with  unflagging  energy  and  zeal.  Though  their 
food  was  irregular  and  their  sleep  scanty,  they  bore 
their  trials  with  a  good-humoured  steadiness  that 
made  one's  own  work  easy.  Of  the  volunteers  prob- 
ably J.  B.  Barrington,  the  two  Whitwells,  the  two 
Phelps,  Bucknall,  and  Coatsworth  did  the  hardest 
work.  Of  the  chauffeurs  Reeves,  Tate,  Gibson,  and 
Baker  (an  ex-captain  of  the  Army  Service  Corps,  and 
of  whom  I  shall  certainly  have  more  to  say  if  he  stays 


I04         MOTOR-AMBULANCE  CORPS 

with  us)  were  untiring  and  most  helpful.     In  fact, 
everyone  worked  absolutely  to  his  limit. 

There  is  little  more  to  tell  you.  Our  nth  Corps  has 
been  withdrawn  for  a  short  time  to  rest,  and  this  gives 
us  time  to  make  up  our  lost  sleep  and  get  the  cars  in 
good  condition  for  the  next  heavy  work. 

Your  loving  brother, 

Dick. 


A  LABORER  IN  THE  TRENCHES 

THE  work  of  the  fighting  men,  and  of  those  who 
care  for  their  broken  bodies,  is  but  a  part  of 
the  story  of  modern  warfare.  The  setting  for  the 
offerings  of  Hfe  must  be  prepared  more  carefully 
than  any  stage  scene.  In  a  diary  kept  by  F.  C. 
Baker,  '12,  of  the  Cyclist  Service  in  the  British 
Army,  published  in  the  Harvard  Graduates^  Maga- 
zine, a  picture  of  the  hard  physical  labor  involved 
in  the  making  of  trenches,  and  of  the  conditions 
under  which  the  work  is  done,  may  be  found. 

About  June  10,  1915.^ 
We  have  been  kept  well  occupied,  supplying  working 
parties  to  assist  "  sappers."  The  work  we  have  been 
doing  has  been  mostly  on  one  small  part  of  the  line, 
where  there  is  a  very  pronounced  local  salient.  Across 
this  salient  a  second  line  of  trenches  is  being  made  in 
case  of  any  need  of  giving  up  the  apex  of  the  salient. 
A  line  of  this  sort  is  known  as  a  "  switch,"  and  it  more 
^  From  Harvard  Graduates'  Magazine^  December,  1915. 
los 


io6     A  LABORER  IN  THE  TRENCHES 

or  less  cuts  along  the  salient  and  joins  up  with  the  pre- 
sent fire-trenches  on  either  side.  Most  nights  we  have 
been  working  on  this  switch,  either  digging  or  improv- 
ing trenches,  or  putting  up  wire  or  carrying  up  ma- 
terial. Some  of  the  ground  covered  by  this  line  can  be 
seen  from  the  German  line,  so  work  cannot  be  carried 
on  there  by  day;  moreover,  an  aeroplane  would  soon 
spot  any  working  party  and  have  it  shelled  right  away. 
Being  able  to  work  only  by  dark  has  meant  regular 
hours,  almost  like  the  routine  hours  of  a  peace-time 
job.  We  start  off  in  the  evening  in  time  to  get  our 
digging  tools  and  get  up  to  the  work  just  as  sufficient 
darkness  arrives  to  afford  cover,  and  leave  again  as  the 
first  light  begins  to  show  itself.  This  "  switch  "  is  by 
no  means  healthy,  as  it  is  very  liberally  distributed  by 
all  the  bullets  coming  over  our  fire-trenches  from  the 
other  side.  Such  fire  is  called  "  overs,"  and,  of  course, 
is  not  aimed  at  one,  but  is  just  as  good  at  doing  dam- 
age, when  it  hits,  as  aimed  fire  might  be.  Being  a 
saHent,  the  middle  part  of  the  ground  gets  "  overs  " 
from  the  flanks  as  well  as  the  front.  If  there  is  a  lot  of 
fire  coming  from  the  German  trenches,  we  have  to  quit 
work  until  it  cools  down  a  bit.  It  is  rather  a  thankless 
job,  it  seems  to  me,  as  we  are  losing  quite  a  few  men  at 
it,  and  get  very  little  in  return  but  candid  criticism 
from  rather  self-satisfied  R.  E.  subalterns. 


F.  C.  BAKER,  'i2  107 

On  the  other  hand,  there  are  most  distinct  and  plea- 
sant advantages  attached  to  it.  There  is  a  pleasant 
ride  back  in  the  early  hours  of  morning,  some  welcome 
sleep,  and  then  the  day  to  one's  self.  When  carrying 
stuff  up  to  the  "  switch,"  we  ride  to  an  R.  E.  "  dump  " 
or  store,  load  limbers  with  the  required  material,  go 
with  the  limbers  as  far  as  it  is  safe  for  them  to  go 
(which  is  about  a  mile  and  a  half  behind  the  lines),  and 
then  unload  the  stuff.  Each  man  takes  as  much  as  he 
can  carry,  and  the  journey  is  made  to  the  place  where 
the  stuff  is  wanted.  It  is  slow  going,  some  of  it  through 
communication-trenches,  and  usually  only  about  four 
journeys  can  be  made,  at  the  most,  before  dawn 
appears.  I  will  try  to  describe  the  surroundings,  seen 
as  our  party  is  digging.  The  line  of  the  fire-trenches 
for  miles  around  can  be  made  out  by  the  "  flares  " 
which  continually  go  up  (a  kind  of  rockets  fired  from 
a  pistol,  which  give  out  a  ball  of  bright  hght  as  they 
burst  in  the  air  and  show  the  ground  in  front  of  the 
trenches  to  those  holding  them).  You  can  see  that  the 
line  here  forms  a  rough  arc  of  an  arch.  There  is  the 
continuous  noise  of  rifle-fire  from  the  trenches  around 
and  the  curious  snaps  like  small  explosions  which  bul- 
lets make  as  they  come  past  when  they  have  been  fired 
from  not  very  far  away,  the  noise  of  an  occasional 
trench-mortar  firing,  and  perhaps  some  guns  firing 


io8     A  LABORER  IN  THE  TRENCHES 

and  shells  bursting  on  one  side  or  the  other.  A 
"  flare  "  will  go  up  close  at  hand,  and  it  will  show  for  a 
second  the  ground  around  one  —  long  grass,  broken 
trenches  here  and  there,  with  the  earth  from  them 
piled  in  front  or  behind,  mostly  old  trenches,  some 
fairly  straight  and  some  zigzag  communication- 
trenches.  There  is  a  short  glimpse  of  the  trench  we 
are  working,  with  our  men  outlined  in  it,  putting  up 
sandbags  or  filling  them,  or  digging  at  the  sides  or 
bottom  of  the  trench,  all  bending  as  low  as  they  can  to 
keep  out  of  harm's  way,  then  beyond  them,  perhaps, 
some  barbed  wire  as  far  as  one  can  see  for  the  moment, 
or  the  ruins  of  a  cottage. 

Our  track,  when  carrying  material,  has  often  taken 
us  through  the  remains  of  a  little  village.  This  village 
must  have  been  very  beautiful  at  one  time,  with  a 
quaint  little  main  street  and  a  church  in  the  middle  of 
it.  We  have  been  through  it  on  more  than  one  night 
when  the  moon  has  been  very  bright,  and  in  such  a 
light  its  ruins  were  a  weird  and  quite  a  picturesque 
sight. 


THE  AMERICAN  DISTRIBUTING  SERVICE 

THE  following  letter  differs  from  its  fellows,  in 
this  collection,  in  that  it  was  written,  not  by  a 
participant,  but  by  an  observer  of  an  important 
branch  of  relief  work  in  France,  in  which  Harvard 
men  have  borne  a  leading  part.  In  October  of 
191 5,  Langdon  Warner,  '03,  recently  returned  from 
France,  was  asked  to  contribute  to  the  Harvard 
Alumni  Bulletin  an  account  of  the  work  of  the 
American  Distributing  Service,  and  his  letter  ap- 
peared in  the  issue  of  October  20.  It  has  the  ad- 
vantage of  saying  what  Cross  and  Greeley  and  the 
others  would  never  have  said  for  themselves.  One 
of  them,  in  a  private  letter  near  the  beginning  of  the 
war,  wrote  in  a  vein  so  characteristic  of  the  spirit 
which  took  many  men  to  Europe  and  kept  others 
there  that  a  few  of  his  words  may  well  be  cited: 

I  hope  at  least  I  can  speak  of  my  desire  to  help, 
without  sounding  as  if  I  overestimated  its  value. 
Everything  has  some  importance,  and  I  should 

log 


no    AMERICAN  DISTRIBUTING  SERVICE 

hate  to  think  of  going  home  to  an  ordinary  life 
while  there  is  a  chance  to  do  my  share.  .  .  . 
Don't  think  I  am  trying  to  be  heroic!  I  am  just 
finding  out  how  strong  my  feelings  are  for  right 
and  justice.  I  wish  I  could  tell  you  of  something 
certain  or  already  accomplished,  but  I  can  only 
hope  to  explain  to  you  why  I  don't  come  home. 

Warner's  letter  is  as  follows:  ^ 

You  asked  me  for  a  word  to  the  Bulletin  about  Har- 
vard men  in  France  and  something  of  the  work  they 
are  doing.  There  are  many  there  —  with  the  army 
and  out  of  it  —  doing  all  sorts  of  things  under  different 
organizations,  as  well  as  privately.  One  could  not  see 
a  tenth  of  the  number. 

The  little  group  that  I  saw  most  included  several 
Harvard  men.  They  have  been  doing  work  which  is 
so  important  that  their  friends  at  home  should  know 
more  about  it.  As  I  write  this,  comes  the  shocking 
news  that  my  classmate  Bob  Cross  is  dead,  and  Rus- 
sell Greeley,  'oi,  lies  in  hospital  with  a  broken  hip; 
they  were  on  duty,  hurrying  supplies  to  a  French 
hospital.  Last  night  came  a  cablegram  from  the 
remaining  four  in  their  distribution  service  telling  of 
the  pressing  need  for  supplies  and  money,  most  of  all 
^  In  Harvard  Alumni  Bulletin,  October  20,  1915. 


LANGDON  WARNER,  '03  iii 

money,  to  meet  the  needs  of  the  thousands  of  wounded 
left  behind  by  the  new  offensive  action  of  the  last 
fortnight. 

Briefly,  this  is  what  these  few  Americans  have  been 
doing  for  the  last  fourteen  months.  Organized  by  the 
wife  of  Robert  Woods  Bliss,  '00,  they  have  used  funds 
suppKed  by  her  for  the  instant  reHef  of  the  most 
obvious  necessities  in  the  hospitals  of  France.  They 
call  themselves  the  American  Distributing  Service. 
The  work  has  been  done  in  a  way  that  has  entirely 
won  the  hearts  of  the  French,  and  they  have  managed 
to  avoid  appearing  as  critics  of  the  volunteer  and  army 
hospitals  and  the  other  services. 

The  French  organizations  are  admirable  and  have 
proved  their  adaptabihty,  since  the  terrible  times  after 
the  victory  of  the  Marne,  to  the  present.  These  young 
men  have  been  a  part  of  it  all,  and  have  been  per- 
mitted to  carry  a  burden  which,  except  in  times  of 
unbeHevable  stress,  would  never  have  been  trusted  to 
foreigners.  The  Ministry  of  War  had  sent  a  circular 
letter  to  the  hospitals  of  France  giving  the  staffs  per- 
mission to  tell  their  needs  to  the  American  Distributing 
Service. 

The  hospitals  have  been  personally  visited  by  mem- 
bers of  the  Service,  and  in  the  Paris  headquarters  are 
the  detailed  reports  concerning  them,  a  bulky  set  of 


112    AMERICAN  DISTRIBUTING  SERVICE 

folders,  growing  weekly,  with  added  lists  of  supplies 
that  have  been  hurried  out  to  each.  This  head- 
quarters, given  the  American  Distributing  Service  by 
the  Paris  Prefet  de  Police,  has  been  turned  into  a  great 
depot  for  materials;  but  the  most  impressive  thing 
about  it  to  the  visitor  is  that  the  shelves  are  for  the 
most  part  empty.  In  these  days  supplies  are  not  kept 
long  on  hand.  The  floors  above  are  turned  into  living 
rooms  for  refugees,  and  in  another  part  the  homeless 
women  work  on  shirts  and  bandages  and  pyjamas 
made  from  cloth  suppKed  by  the  Distributing  Com- 
mittee, who  turn  them  over  to  the  hospitals  as  soon  as 
they  are  finished. 

Surgical  instruments,  bolts  of  cloth,  sacks  of  sugar 
and  coffee,  hospital  socks  and  slippers,  and  bales  of 
underclothes  are  barely  sorted  before  they  are  away 
on  one  of  the  overworked  motors,  either  direct  to  a 
nearby  hospital  or  to  the  railway  where  they  are 
carried  free  on  government  pass  to  more  distant  points. 

Four  of  the  staff  are  continually  on  the  road  visiting 
hospitals  and  keeping  in  touch  with  their  requirements, 
writing  or  telegraphing  back  to  headquarters  for 
urgently  needed  shipments.  All  work  is  done  in 
French,  by  Americans  so  thoroughly  in  touch  with  the 
country  they  serve  that  there  is  no  hitch,  no  sense  of 
patronizing  outside  aid  for  a  proud  and  sensitive 


LANGDON  WARNER,  '03  113 

people.  Best  of  all  there  is  no  red  tape.  The  staff  can 
buy  in  Paris  what  they  decide  to  give  away,  and  the 
money  is  accounted  for  on  their  own  carefully-kept 
books.  That  is  why  they  want  funds  which  are 
readily  convertible  into  suppHes  of  any  sort,  though 
they  are  glad  to  get  bolts  of  cloth  suitable  for  shirts 
and  pyjamas,  or  gauze  and  cotton  and  antiseptics. 

I  have  by  me,  as  I  write,  ninety-nine  pages  of  type- 
written statistics  covering  the  distribution  during  last 
August  alone,  when  44,587  articles  were  sent  out,  in- 
cluding material  for  operating  rooms,  surgical  instru- 
ments, clothing  of  all  kinds,  steriUzing  apparatus, 
bandages,  linen,  etc.  The  list  of  hospitals  helped  is 
now  well  over  seven  hundred,  and  the  committee  are 
getting  into  touch  with  fresh  ones  every  day. 

There  is  no  other  organization  in  France  on  the  same 
footing,  and  no  other  American  organization  for  hos- 
pital relief  was  formed  so  early.  They  have  been  hard 
at  work  since  August,  1914. 

Other  Americans  are  doing  work  more  exciting,  and 
more  dramatic,  and  better  known:  but  it  would  be 
difficult  to  find  any  group  of  men  who  are  rendering 
better  service  behind  the  scenes.  The  most  cautious 
international  lawyer  could  not  accuse  them  of  violat- 
ing letter  or  spirit  of  our  carefully  studied  American 
neutrality  by  their  ministrations. 


114    AMERICAN  DISTRIBUTING  SERVICE 

Now  comes  the  news  that  Bob  Cross,  '03,  is  killed 
on  duty,  and  Russell  Greeley,  '01,^  is  disabled,  but  the 
service  is  going  on  full  blast.  There  has  been  no  public 
appeal  for  money,  but  three  weeks  ago  they  told  me 
that  they  are  now  reaching  the  point  where  such  an 
appeal  must  be  made  if  the  work  is  to  be  kept  up. 

I  should  like  to  write  of  Bob  Cross  —  perhaps  the 
most  conscientious  fellow  we  knew  —  who,  after 
exploring  and  hunting  on  repeated  dangerous  expedi- 
tions in  the  Arctic,  met  death  on  a  French  highway 
rushing  supplies  to  the  wounded.  But  this  work  of  his 
and  of  his  friends  speaks  clearly  enough  for  Harvard 
College  to  know  the  rest. 

[The  personnel  of  the  American  Distributing  Service  has  been 
as  follows:  Russell  H.  Greeley,  '01,  Director  (disabled) ;  Geoffrey 
Dodge  (Yale),  Secretary;  Horace  B.  Stanton,  '00;  B.  B.  Moore; 
Gerland  Beadel;  Charles  Robert  Cross,  Jr.,  '03  (killed).] 

1  Not  long  after  this  occurrence  Greeley  was  awarded  the  Cross  of 
the  Legion  of  Honor  by  the  French  government. 


A  HARVARD  CLUB  AT  THE  FRONT 

ANOTHER  letter  to  the  Bulletin,  this  time 
from  an  active  worker  with  the  motor  service 
of  the  American  Ambulance  Hospital,  brought  the 
welcome  intelligence  that  Harvard  men  were  meet- 
ing in  a  spirit  of  Harvard  fellowship,  even  near  to 
the  battle-line.  On  February  12,  1916,  Stephen 
Galatti,  '10,  wrote  from  Paris  as  follows:  ^ 

The  Harvard  Club  of  Alsace  Reconquise  came  into 
being  on  the  night  before  the  Yale  football  game  and 
performed,  as  such,  three  official  acts,  namely:  to  send 
a  telegram  to  Percy  Haughton^  advising  him  how  to 
beat  Yale  by  Joffre  tactics;  secondly,  to  drink  the 
health  of  the  team  after  said  game;   thirdly,  to  have 

^  See  Harvard  Alumni  Bulletin,  March  8,  1916. 

2  This  message,  as  recorded  in  the  diary  of  T.  J.  Putnam,  '15,  on 
November  20,  1915,  was  as  follows:  "  A  la  veille  de  votre  combat, 
salut!  Serrez  vos  ceintures,  fixez  vos  baionnettes,  chargez  vos  fusils 
grenades  £t  main,  et  en  avant  les  gars!  On  vous  regarde  m^me  des 
sommets  des  Vosges. 

"  Le  Harvard  Club  d' Alsace  Reconquise." 

On  November  22  Putnam  wrote:  "  The  Har^'ard-Yale  score  was 
annoimced,  41-0.  The  Harvard  Club  of  Alsace  Reconquise  celebrated 
mildly,  for  Doyle  (our  only  Yale  man)  was  away." 

115 


ii6      A  HARVARD  CLUB  AT  THE  FRONT 

their  photograph  taken.  The  first  act  was  censored  by 
unsympathetic  ofiicials,  the  second  was  successful, 
and  the  third  I  enclose  for  your  judgment. 

The  reason  for  bringing  this  to  your  notice  is  that  it 
may  perhaps  show  you  that  Harvard  is  playing  an 
important  role  in  the  work  of  the  American  Ambu- 
lance Field  Service.  There  have  been  seventy-three 
Harvard  men  so  far  associated  with  it,  and,  as  it  hap- 
pens, the  largest  proportion  have  been  with  the 
Section  working  in  Alsace.  This  Section  was  sent 
there  in  April,  and  after  ten  months  service  has  been 
transferred  to  another  army.  While  there,  it  had  the 
opportunity,  owing  to  the  character  of  the  country,  to 
become  the  pioneer  in  evacuating  wounded  over  those 
mountains  by  automobiles,  the  little  Ford  cars  replac- 
ing mules,  as  fast  as  an  extra  few  feet  could  be  added  to 
the  width  of  the  paths.  In  June,  during  an  attack,  the 
Section  proved  that  an  efficient  evacuation  of  wounded 
could  be  made  over  one  mountain  road,  and  later,  in 
October,  and  again  in  December,  at  Hartmanswiller- 
kopf  was  able  to  cope  with  the  difficult  conditions.  In 
the  period  between  these  attacks  the  daily  service  over 
many  mountain  roads,  covered  with  mud,  snow,  or 
ice,  was  performed  regularly,  and  reduced  the  hours  of 
transport  for  the  wounded  in  one  run  from  five  to  two 
hours,  and  in  others  from  three  to  less  than  one  hour. 


STEPHEN  GALATTI,  'lo  117 

With  the  moving  of  the  Section  to  another  army, 
the  Harvard  Club  of  Alsace  Reconquise  ends  its  active 
career  (but  expects  to  have  even  more  active  meetings 
in  New  York  or  Boston) .  It  was  perhaps  only  a  name, 
but  its  members  enjoyed  the  name  as  signifying  that 
Harvard  was  there  too  in  reconquered  territory,  and 
they  feel  that  its  unique  position  among  many  Har- 
vard Clubs  may  interest  your  readers. 

R.  Lawrence,  '02,  with  D.  D.  L.  McGrew,  '03,  and 
Lovering  Hill,  '10,  as  assistants,  was  Section-leader 
from  April  to  July;  on  the  departure  of  the  former 
two,  L.  Hill,  '10,  with  H.  M.  Suckley,  '10,  Durant 
Rice,  '12,  and  A.  G.  Carey,  '14,  as  assistants,  was 
appointed  to  its  head. 

The  following  is  a  list  of  members: 

A.  G.  Carey,  '14.  D.  W.  Lewis,  '14. 

P.  T.  Gate,  '15.  D.  D.  L.  McGrew,  '03. 

C,  R.  Codman,  '15.  John  Melcher,  '18. 

E.  J.  Curley,  '04.  J.  M.  MeUen,  '17. 

W.  K.  Emerson,  '16.  Waldo  Peirce,  '07. 

Stephen  Galatti,  '10.  J.  R.  0.  Perkins,  '14. 

H.  D.  Hale,  '14.  T.  J.  Putnam,  '15, 

H.  K.  Hardon,  '12.  W.  K.  Rainsford,  '04. 

A.  T.  Henderson,  '13.  Durant  Rice,  '12. 

Lovering  Hill,  '10.  J.  H.  Smith,  '02. 
A.  R.  Jennings,  G.S.  '14-15.     H.  M.  Suckley,  '10. 

Richard  Lawrence,  '02.  M.  F.  Talbot,  '16. 
P.  B.  Watson,  '15. 


A  SCENE  IN  ALSACE 

THOUGH  the  letter  from  Waldo  Peirce,  '07, 
to  Professor  C.  T.  Copeland,  from  which  the 
ensuing  passages  are  taken,  bears  a  later  date  — 
May  I,  1916  —  than  that  of  some  which  follow,  it 
describes  the  scene  in  which  the  Harvard  Club  of 
Alsace  Reconquise  had  its  being.  It  is  accordingly 
printed  here  —  not  only  for  its  revelation  of  the 
activities  of  members  of  this  unique  Harvard  Club, 
but  also  for  its  vivid  picture  of  nature  torn  asunder 
by  war. 

I  SPENT  the  winter  in  Haute  Alsace  —  around  a  certain 
old  nubbin  —  "a  protuberance  of  terra  firma/'  a  la 
Dr.  Johnson  —  called  Hartmanswillerkopf .  I  wish  to 
God  I  were  still  there.  When  I  was  there  I  usually 
wished  I  were  anywhere  else  in  the  world.  The  bottom 
of  a  sewer  to  the  armpits  and  over  in  liquid  manure 
would  have  seemed  a  wholesome  and  savory  situation 
—  provided  the  sewer  were  profound  enough  and  the 
manure  resistant  enough  to  defy  obus,  and  all  their  kind. 
To  see  the  old  nubbin  itself  —  spur  of  the  Vosges  — 
concealed  between  the  parallel  spurs  —  one  must 
grind  up  the  old  mule  paths  —  since  broadened  into 

Z18 


WALDO  PEIRCE,  '07  119 

fair  wood  roads  —  quite  close.  Leave  the  main  artil- 
lery, go  out  towards  a  battery  or  observation  "  poste," 
crawl  into  an  old  shell  hole,  and  where  the  trees  have 
snapped  Hke  straws  to  the  obus,  take  a  good  look 
through.  Below  you  are  still  trees,  but  as  the  ground 
rises  au  face,  they  dwindle  and  disappear,  as  disap- 
pears all  vegetation  in  great  altitudes,  or  diminish 
towards  the  north  —  quietly,  quietly  towards  the  ice- 
fields. Here,  however,  no  great  altitude,  nor  any 
ice-fields.  First  come  the  maimed  trees,  then  the  skele- 
tons of  those  dead  with  their  boots  on,  then  a  bare 
stump  or  two  —  a  few  ankle  bones  —  then  nothing. 
Before  the  war  all  was  forest  —  and  a  damned  thick 
one  at  that.  Then,  all  our  timber,  grown  to  its  prime, 
lulled  into  a  false  security,  sun-basking  en  beau  temps, 
buffeting  and  jostling  their  neighbors  in  the  wind  — 
crash  one  day  out  of  a  clear  sky!  .  .  .  The  nubbin, 
the  old  ridge,  the  spur,  the  razor-back,  whatever  you 
call  it,  loses  its  pelt;  after  its  pelt,  its  hide  —  after  that, 
its  whole  scorched  anatomy  is  drubbed,  hammered, 
ploughed,  furrowed,  ripped,  scoured,  torn,  shattered  — 
consult  dictionary  of  synonyms  —  and  beplastered 
with  every  calibre  of  obus  that  whines.  For  they 
whine,  the  bastards,  they  whine  to  tell  you  of  their 
coming,  and  give  the  flesh  a  moment  to  goose  itself  in, 
and  damned  pagans  like  some  of  us  to  find  a  religion. 


I20  A  SCENE  IN  ALSACE 

No  Moslem  ever  curved  his  vertebrae  with  a  quicker 
parabola  at  the  sight  of  Mecca  —  or  the  antics  of  the 
Sun.  No  armadillo  or  ant-eater  ever  entrenched  his 
proboscis  in  the  ground  with  the  despatch  of  our  hero 
at  the  whine  of  an  obuSj  to  all  intents  and  purposes 
about  to  land  between  the  eyes.  Mud,  manure,  .  .  . 
down  into  it,  nose  first,  and  make  thy  world  therein, 
while  she  whines  and  whines  overhead!  Sometimes 
the  whining  becomes  a  drone,  feebler  and  feebler  — 
perhaps  she  isn't  going  to  make  the  grade.  You  help 
her  on  her  way  with  every  muscle  in  your  prostrate 
form.  Once  I  drove  into  an  abrij  side  of  the  road, 
and  stuck  at  the  entrance  —  a  damned  narrow  pas- 
sage, not  for  maternity  girdles  —  leaving  two  friends 
outside,  alternately  pushing  and  pulling  in  vain.  I  was 
known  as  the  human  hondon  (bung)  thereafter  — 
another  man,  the  human  "  magnet,"  attracting  always 
tons  of  metal.  .  .  .  Another  man  is  called  the  human 
"  earth-worm,''  always  to  be  found  in  a  cellar  or 
gutter.  ...  I  have  hit  cellars  too,  consoHng  good 
nuns  —  sisters  of  charity  of  German  stock,  i.  e., 
Alsacians  —  who  gave  me  underclothes  of  the  dead, 
gratefully  received,  for  my  sympathetic  attitude.  One 
was  killed  one  day  of  bombardment  in  the  valley.  I 
wear  still  a  good  khaki  jersey  she  gave  me.  I've 
forgotten  her  name  —  probably  Ursula. 


WALDO  PEIRCE,  '07  121 

I  started  out  to  give  you  a  description  of  our  moun- 
tain. I  left  you  peering  through  the  gap  in  the  trees  — 
n'est-ce  pas?  —  Eh  hien — before  you,  the  old  scalped 
nubbin  —  the  most  awful  monument  of  war  I  have 
seen.  It's  inhabited,  this  mass  of  terra  infirma  —  muy, 
muy  inferma  —  as  the  Spaniard  would  say  —  (this 
being  Cervantes  tricentenary,  have  to  heave  in  a  bit  of 
old  Castillian).  There  are  small  ants  of  men  who 
crawl  about  amid  its  boils,  ruptures,  and  gaping  sores. 
Some  are  French,  some  Boches.  The  Hnes  are  about 
a  yard  apart  at  the  top,  for  no  one  side  can  hold  it 
against  the  other,  though  taken  and  retaken  many 
times.  Thus  they  live  together  —  only  in  the  fear  of 
kilKng  one's  own  lies  their  security.  It's  a  sort  of 
terrific  altar  of  war  against  the  sky,  drenched  with  a 
thousand  sacrifices,  rising  grim  and  naked,  and  scarred 
alive  —  the  valley  and  her  slopes  tree-covered.  It  was 
always  a  spectacle  that  chased  the  red  corpuscles  in 
my  veins  down  into  my  heels,  and  brought  every  white 
one  to  the  surface.  The  last  time  I  looked  at  it,  per- 
haps we  were  seen  —  we  were  three  —  the  ohus  began 
whining  at  us  from  somewhere  in  Bocheland  —  I 
measured  my  length  ...  as  I  will  measure  it  again. 
Somewhere  on  the  Vosgean  steep  .  .  .  there  must  be  a 
perfect  mold  —  the  life-mask  of  one  Peirce,  conducteur 
d'ambulance.   I  have  not  seen  the  old  nubbin  since. 


THE  DEATH  OF  A   COMRADE 

STILL  another  picture  of  the  Hfe  led  in  the  Vos- 
ges  by  the  group  of  Harvard  men  who  formed 
the  Club  of  Alsace  Reconquise  is  found  in  the  diary 
of  Tracy  J.  Putnam,  '15.  It  would  be  possible  to 
draw  upon  its  pages,  not  only  for  experiences  in  the 
winter  mountains,  but  also  for  summer  days  in 
Dunkirk  and  its  vicinity.  Here  there  is  space  but 
for  the  journal  of  seven  days,  on  the  last  of  which 
occurred  the  funeral  of  a  comrade  killed  in  service 
—  Richard  Hall  of  Ann  Arbor,  a  graduate  of  Dart- 
mouth, much  beloved  by  his  fellows  at  the  front. 

Monday,  December  20th. 
After  dinner  walked  out  over  the  moonlit  fields,  the 
great  guns  booming  at  intervals.  Returning,  met  a 
soldier  fully  armed,  and  somewhat  tipsy.  He  de- 
manded my  name  and  business,  but  would  not  divulge 
his  own;  as  he  had  the  gun,  I  gave  way.  Soon  we 
became  very  chummy;  he  told  me  he  was  an  agent  de 
liaison,  coming  to  Mollau  to  see  his  girl,  and  asked  me 
in  to  have  a  drink  with  him.  If  I  had  been  a  spy  I 
could  have  had  all  his  papers. 


TRACY  J.  PUTNAM,  '15  123 

Continued  back  to  the  billet,  absorbed  in  contem- 
plation. Was  seized  by  the  telephonist;  some  one 
wanted  urgently  to  speak  to  Hill  and  Triffault.  Found 
both  with  some  trouble. 

The  message  was,  seven  cars  to  Tomans,  two  to 
Freuenstein,  one  to  Pastetenplatz,  five  to  Moosch. 
The  attack  is  on !  the  attack  is  on! 

SuisfDAY,  December  21st. 

Cold,  cloudy.    Terrific  bombardment. 

An  atmosphere  of  ill-suppressed  excitement.  Galatti, 
Mellen  and  I  went  up  to  Freuenstein,  arriving  about 
ten.  The  road  was  full  of  troops  and  wagons  —  many, 
staff  cars.  At  the  post  we  found  ourselves  in  the  midst 
of  a  group  of  batteries  of  various  sizes,  firing  inces- 
santly. Occasionally  the  two  ''370's"  in  the  valley 
would  go  off,  and  we  would  hear  the  shell  tear  past 
over  our  heads. 

No  work  in  the  morning  or  early  afternoon,  as  the 
attack  did  not  begin  until  noon. 

We  three  walked  to  the  hoyau  leading  to  the  trenches 
on  the  Sudelkopf ,  and  cautiously  peered  over  the  ridge 
at  Hartmanns.  A  terrible  sight!  There  was  a  band  of 
trees  stripped  bare  by  shell-fire,  from  the  valley  to  the 
crest.  Shells  were  landing  momently  on  each  side  of 
the  line,  and  sending  up  a  little  or  a  big  cloud  of 


124        THE  DEATH  OF  A  COMRADE 

smoke.  We  saw  one  torpedo,  rising  and  falling  slowly, 
wavering  from  side  to  side  like  a  bird,  and  finally 
bursting. 

A  company  of  soldiers  passed  us,  going  to  the 
trenches.  They  stopped  to  load;  then  went  on,  stoop- 
ing behind  the  parapet.  It  did  not  seem  possible  that 
any  of  them  could  go  down  to  that  shell-dotted  hillside 
and  return  alive;  I  wonder  if  any  of  them  did. 

We  walked  down  to  the  ridge  again,  mostly  on  our 
bellies,  through  the  light  wet  snow,  past  two  tele- 
phonists nervously  following  a  wire,  past  a  trench  with 
the  hand-grenades  laid  out,  past  the  path  to  the  castle, 
and  so  back  to  the  post.  The  mediaeval  castle  of 
Freuenstein  is  on  the  top  of  a  little  hill.  It  would  be  an 
interesting  place  to  visit;  only  the  Germans  found  a 
"  75  "  battery  in  it,  and  knocked  it  to  pieces,  and 
always  look  on  it  now  with  suspicion. 

We  returned  to  the  post.  As  I  have  said,  there  was 
no  work  for  some  time;  standing  still,  it  was  cold,  and  a 
light  snow  was  falling;  no  place  to  stay;  and  no  meals 
were  provided  for  us.  We  at  last  found  a  cabin  which 
kept  the  wind  off,  and  I  went  to  sleep.  Woke  up 
hungry  and  cold;  the  others  had  found  a  travelling 
kitchen,  and  we  got  something  to  eat. 

Just  before  dusk,  prisoners  and  wounded  began  to 
come  in.    One  of  the  former  could  speak  French,  and  a 


TRACY  J.  PUTNAM,  '15  125 

crowd  collected  to  hang  on  his  words.  The  Germans 
were  pleased  enough  to  be  prisoners.  They  had  better 
be!  The  chasseurs  do  not  take  prisoners;  they  shot 
about  twenty  who  wished  to  surrender  today. 

The  French  were  successful  everywhere,  as  far  as  we 
can  find  out,  in  this  first  attack.  They  have  got  to  the 
valley  of  the  Sudel  ridge. 

I  rolled  last,  about  five.  Blesses,  French  and  Ger- 
mans were  coming  in  quickly,  some  hung  in  blankets 
for  want  of  stretchers.  One  or  two  men  had  pneu- 
monia from  the  gas.  The  three  I  took  down  were  all 
rather  low. 

We  have  to  descend  by  the  Bittschwiller  road,  like 
all  the  rest  of  the  traffic.  A  good  idea,  but  poor  in 
practice,  especially  as  the  B —  road  is  so  difficult.  .  .  . 
Road  from  Tomans  down,  icy  and  sHppery;  Mellen 
unable  to  descend  with  only  one  chain,  wagons  every- 
where in  trouble.  I  reached  Moosch  in  safety,  however. 

Wednesday,  December  22. 

Warmer,  thaw,  rain,  mist.  Somewhat  less  bom- 
bardment. 

Woke,  much  refreshed,  to  find  a  thaw  setting  in, 
with  mist  and  rain.  After  a  Httle  work  on  the  car, 
rolled  up  the  hill.  Blesses  coming  in  rather  more 
slowly,  but  still  fast  enough  to  keep  us  busy. 


126        THE  DEATH  OF  A  COMRADE 

Last  night  Hill  and  the  Divisionnaire  were  down 
near  Bains-Douches,  when  they  came  across  a  body  of 
Germans,  unarmed  but  unguarded.  So  they  had  to 
act  as  guards;  marshalled  them,  and  marched  them 
to  the  post,  Hill  giving  commands  in  German. 

Trips  to  Bains-Douches  and  Heerenfluh;  shells 
rather  close. 

On  one  of  my  trips  to  Moosch  was  able  to  pick  up  a 
peau  de  mouton,  and  some  Boche  boots;  much  needed, 
for  both  my  pairs  are  soaked  through. 

The  hospital  is  getting  more  and  more  crowded.  .  .  . 
The  corridors  are  so  full  of  stretchers  that  it  is  almost 
impossible  to  move  along  them.  There  is  room  for 
only  six  stretcher  cases  in  the  salle  de  buage,  and  there 
is  a  rule  against  removing  any  of  them  into  the  hospital 
until  all  have  been  entered  on  the  books.  Six  cars 
waited  two  hours  to  be  unloaded,  the  poor  wretches 
inside  crying  to  be  unloaded.  And  everyone  has  been 
expecting  the  attack  for  two  weeks! 

Bad  news  from  the  trenches:  the  Germans  have 
counter-attacked  in  force,  and  retaken  most  of  their 
losses.  Worst  of  all  is  the  disaster  which  has  befallen 
the  152nd,  one  of  the  finest  "  attacking  regiments  "  in 
France.  They  were  on  Hartmanns;  after  a  terrific 
bombardment,  the  signal  was  given  to  charge.  The 
Germans  gave  little  or  no  resistance,  but  fled  or  sur- 


TRACY  J.  PUTNAM,  '15  127 

rendered.  They  passed  two  trenches,  and  were  attack- 
ing the  third,  when  a  large  body  of  Germans  appeared 
behind  them,  having  reached  the  first  trenches  by  a 
subterranean  passage.  There  were  no  reserves;  all 
but  less  than  a  company  of  the  152nd  were  killed  or 
captured.  That  has  been  the  universal  complaint:  no 
reserves. 

However,  the  number  of  German  prisoners  is  be- 
tween one  thousand  and  one  thousand  five  hundred, 
with  more  killed.  The  French  losses  are  very  large 
also. 

We  have  to  go  by  the  Bitschwiller  road  again.  But 
when  it  is  muddy,  it  is  not  so  bad,  for  the  mud  acts  as 
a  brake.  We  are  not  supposed  to  have  headlights, 
although  some  do.  Suckley  told  the  driver  of  a  staff 
car  this;  the  driver  took  one  look  at  the  precipice,  and 
said:  "  Si  vous  pouvez  descendre  sur  cette  route  sans 
flares,  vous  etes  plus  malin  que  moi."   And  he  went  on. 

Slept  three  hours  at  Tomans. 

Thursday,  December  23d. 

Rain  and  mist.    Bombardment  by  the  Germans. 

After  a  slight  lull  in  the  morning,  work  began  again. 
Rolled  pretty  steadily. 

The  Germans  are  firing  on  all  the  towns  they  can 
reach  in  the  Thur:   Thann,  the  Willers,  Moosch,  St. 


128        THE  DEATH  OF  A  COMRADE 

Amarin,  Wesserling,  and  Hiieseren.  Two  large  ones  hit 
in  the  yard  behind  the  baths  at  the  16-7^  while  Douglas 
was  at  the  hospital;  they  have  closed  it.  A  good  many 
people,  soldiers  and  civilians,  have  been  killed. 

There  has  been  heavy  shelling  on  the  Bains-Douches 
road  also.  Doyle  was  sent  down  to  the  post  there,  but 
the  marmites  were  so  thick  that  he  had  to  retire  to  the 
ahri.  He  only  stuck  his  nose  out  once  in  the  course  of 
the  day  —  and  just  then  a  shell  went  off  near  the  door 
of  the  dug  out,  and  struck  him  in  the  arm.  Douglas 
was  sent  down  at  twilight  when  the  shelling  let  up  a 
little,  and  he  was  relayed  to  the  Sources,  with  great 
honor.  The  missile  went  down  to  the  bone,  but  did 
not  cut  either  nerve  or  tendon;  somewhat  painful,  but 
not  serious,  and  so  romantic!  .  .  . 

But  the  shortage  of  men  is  serious.  Walker  has  been 
ill  since  the  first  day.  Perkins  has  developed  an  abscess 
in  the  ear.  Carey,  out  for  a  record,  has  been  checked 
by  a  sore  throat.  The  strain  is  telling  a  httle  on  all  of 
us;  only  Curley  is  a  man  of  iron,  who  is  so  uncomfort- 
able at  Moosch  that  he  rolls  up  to  Tomans,  and  so 
disgusted  with  Tomans  that  he  rolls  down  to  Moosch 
again  at  once. 

The  cars,  too,  are  giving  way.  The  Bitschwiller 
road  is  wearing  out  brake-bands  faster  than  they  can 
^The  hospital  at  Wesserling. 


TRACY  J.  PUTNAM,  '15  129 

be  put  on.  Several  axle  shafts  have  broken,  among 
others  that  on  the  supply  car,  that  is  now  reposing 
among  the  corpses  in  the  garage  at  Tomans. 

Friday,  December  24th. 
Heavy  showers,  mist. 

Fitful  bombardment,  evidently  much  hampered  by 
the  fog. 

Made  one  trip  in  the  morning,  one  in  the  early  after- 
noon. Returning  from  the  latter,  was  impressed  into 
service  by  Dick  Hall  to  get  a  couche  and  four  assis  at 
Wilier.  But  when  we  got  to  the  infirmary,  found  that 
the  "  lier  "  could  sit  up,  so  that  they  could  all  five  get 
into  Hall's  car.  But  no  sooner  had  they  mounted  than 
an  infirmier  said  he  had  to  go  too.  We  dissuaded  him, 
however,  and  I  rolled  up  the  mountain,  and  Dick 
rolled  down  to  Moosch.  Poor  Dick!  Poor  charming, 
whimsical  Dick!    I  never  saw  him  again. 

Had  a  trip  down  in  time  for  supper  at  Moosch.  On 
my  way  up  found  Gate  in  trouble  with  a  tire  —  his 
sixth  since  the  beginning  of  the  attack  —  and  stopped 
to  help  him.  When  we  were  finished,  we  went  on,  but 
found  Douglas,  Peirce,  Jennings,  all  waiting  at  the 
watering  trough  for  some  trucks  to  reach  the  top  of  the 
hill,  as  they  were  impossible  to  pass.  Finally  we 
started  off  again,  a  merry  convoy,  stopping  to  heave 


ISO        THE  DEATH  OF  A  COMRADE 

Peirce's  old  '  bus  up  every  little  grade.  A  cart,  stuck 
in  the  middle  of  the  steep  corner,  complicated  matters, 
but  we  finally  reached  Tomans.  I  was  lulled  to  sleep 
by  one  of  the  survivors  recounting  the  story  of  the 
152nd. 

Christmas  Day. 

Fog.    Desultory  firing.    No  work. 

As  I  was  lying  awake  in  the  morning,  the  sergeant  of 
the  infirmiers  came  in.  "  Very  bad  news  everywhere,'' 
he  said  with  a  grave  face.  "  We  have  lost  several  of 
our  trenches  —  and  one  of  the  Americans  has  been 
killed." 

After  I  saw  Dick  at  Wilier,  he  must  have  taken  his 
men  to  Moosch,  waited  there  a  Httle  while,  and  started 
up  to  Tomans  again  as  usual.  The  road  was  almost 
empty.  I  can  imagine  him  stopping  at  the  lonely 
watering  trough,  smiling  a  little  to  himself,  as  he  used 
to  when  he  was  alone,  hearing  the  shells  above  him, 
and  thinking  perhaps  how  lucky  Doyle  was  to  have 
come  off  as  easily  as  he  did;  perhaps  of  something 
entirely  different,  of  Christmas,  of  going  home  —  who 
knows  what  ?  Then  he  cranked  his  car,  and  started  to 
climb  again. 

For  some  time  the  Germans  had  been  trying  without 
success  to  locate  an  observation  post  on  the  ridge  above 
Tomansplatz,  near  Markstein.    A  battery,  probably 


TRACY  J.  PUTNAM,  '15  131 

at  the  northern  end  of  the  Sudelkopf,  had  been  firing 
at  it  on  Christmas  Eve.  One  of  the  last  shells,  between 
six  and  seven  in  the  evening,  overshot  the  ridge,  and 
fell  on  the  zigzags  of  the  road,  about  midway  between 
the  turn  with  the  watering  trough  and  the  steep 
corner.  It  struck  Dick  Hall's  car  just  behind  the  front 
seat;  it  must  have  been  quite  a  big  one,  for  it  blew  the 
car  completely  off  the  road,  bent  in  the  frame,  smashed 
to  match- wood  the  light  body,  flattened  out  the  tins  of 
petrol.  Dick  was  wounded  in  three  places,  the  head, 
the  side,  and  the  thigh,  and  killed  at  once. 

His  body  lay  there,  among  the  wreck  of  his  car,  all 
night.  Our  merry  convoy  passed  without  seeing  it. 
I  saw  one  of  the  gasoline  cans  by  the  side  of  the  road, 
and  stopped  to  pick  it  up,  wondering  who  dropped  it. 
About  six  in  the  morning,  just  as  it  was  getting  light, 
Jennings  and  Matter  came  up  together;  they  saw  the 
car,  stopped  to  look  at  it,  and  found  the  body. 

Monday,  December  27th. 
Chilly,  intermittent  rain. 

Went  down  about  noon.  The  triage  has  been  trans- 
ferred from  Moosch  to  Wilier;  after  leaving  my  men 
at  the  latter  place,  proceeded  to  the  former. 

Hill  gave  me  permission  to  stay  down  for  Dick's 
funeral.    About  half  the  boys  were  down;  we  drove 


132        THE  DEATH  OF  A  COMRADE 

over  through  the  rain  to  the  Protestant  chapel  at 
WesserHng.  A  chaplain  preached.  The  chapel  was  at 
first  empty,  but  slowly  it  filled  up  with  English  and 
Frenchmen;  all  our  friends,  and  some  we  had  never 
known. 

After  the  civil  ceremony,  the  coffin  was  loaded  in 
Louis'  ambulance,  and  driven  to  Moosch  again  for  the 
military  ceremony.  A  guard  of  honor  of  old  Terri- 
torials —  all  they  could  spare,  I  suppose  —  lined  up 
on  each  side.  The  Protestant  chaplain  again  con- 
ducted the  ceremony,  while  the  crowd  Hstened  bare- 
headed in  the  rain.  The  divisionnaire  pinned  the  croix 
de  guerre  on  the  flag  that  draped  the  bier;  the  several 
majors  each  spoke  a  few  words.  The  pall-bearers  took 
up  the  coffin,  and  we  all  marched  to  the  crowded 
graveyard  on  the  hill  behind  the  hospital. 

The  Enghsh  section  was  present  almost  to  a  man. 
There  were,  of  course,  a  great  many  of  the  French  — 
so  many  people  had  known  Dick  and  liked  him.  The 
little  girl  from  the  cafe,  and  the  one  from  the  shop, 
both  came  to  leave  a  flower  on  the  grave. 


WITH  THE  FOREIGN  LEGION 

THERE  has  been  no  more  courageous  service 
in  the  War  than  that  of  the  Foreign  Legion  of 
the  French  Army.  This  organization,  drawn  from 
men  of  all  races  and  types,  contained  its  Harvard 
representatives  —  among  them  Victor  Chapman, 
'13,  who  turned  later,  and  fatally,  to  the  Flying 
Service;  Alan  Seeger,  '10,  a  young  poet  of  un- 
common promise,  several  times,  and  at  length  with- 
out denial,  reported  killed;  H.  W.  Farnsworth,  '12, 
killed  at  Tahure  in  the  autumn  of  191 5,  a  writer  of 
remarkable  letters  from  which  some  passages  will 
presently  be  given;  and  David  W.  King,  '16,  also 
to  be  represented  in  a  letter  written  from  the  front. 
Before  them,  however,  a  poem  of  Seeger 's  which 
appeared  in  the  North  American  Review,  a  charm- 
ing expression  of  the  spirit  of  joyous  and  devoted 
youth,  the  more  poignant  now  through  the  fulfill- 
ment of  its  prophetic  strain,  should  enter  at  this 
point  in  the  record  of  Harvard  service. 


Z33 


134        WITH  THE  FOREIGN  LEGION 


CHAMPAGNE,  1914-15I 

On  the  glad  revels,  in  the  happy  fetes. 

When  cheeks  are  flushed,  and  glasses  gilt  and  pearled 
With  the  sweet  wine  of  France  that  concentrates 

The  sunshine  and  the  beauty  of  the  world, 

Drink  sometimes,  you  whose  footsteps  yet  may  tread 
The  undisturbed,  delightful  paths  of  Earth, 

To  those  whose  blood,  in  pious  duty  shed. 
Hallows  the  soil  where  that  same  wine  had  birth. 

Here,  by  devoted  comrades  laid  away, 
Along  our  lines  they  slumber  where  they  fell, 

Beside  the  crater  at  the  Ferme  d'Alger 
And  up  the  bloody  slopes  of  La  Pompelle, 

And  round  the  city  whose  cathedral  towers 

The  enemies  of  Beauty  dared  profane, 
And  in  the  mat  of  multicolored  flowers 

That  clothe  the  sxmny  chalk-fields  of  Champagne. 

Under  the  little  crosses  where  they  rise 
The  soldier  rests.    Now  round  him  undismayed 

The  cannon  thunders,  and  at  night  he  lies 
At  peace  beneath  the  eternal  fusillade.  ... 

^  From  North  American  Review,  October,  1915. 


ALAN  SEEGER,  ^lo  135 

That  other  generations  might  possess  — 
From  shame  and  menace  free  in  years  to  come  — 

A  richer  heritage  of  happiness, 
He  marched  to  that  heroic  martyrdom. 

Esteeming  less  the  forfeit  that  he  paid 

Than  undishonored  that  his  flag  might  float 

Over  the  towers  of  Hberty,  he  made 
His  breast  the  bulwark  and  his  blood  the  moat. 

Obscurely  sacrificed,  his  nameless  tomb. 
Bare  of  the  sculptor's  art,  the  poet's  lines. 

Summer  shall  flush  with  poppy-fields  in  bloom, 
And  Autumn  yellow  with  maturing  vines. 

There  the  grape-pickers  at  their  harvesting 
Shall  lightly  tread  and  load  their  wicker  trays, 

Blessing  his  memory  as  they  toil  and  sing 
In  the  slant  sunshine  of  October  days.  .  .  . 

I  love  to  think  that  if  my  blood  should  be 

So  privileged  to  sink  where  his  has  sunk, 
I  shall  not  pass  from  Earth  entirely 

But  when  the  banquet  rings,  when  healths  are  drunk, 

And  faces  that  the  joys  of  living  fill 

Glow  radiant  with  laughter  and  good  cheer, 

In  beaming  cups  some  spark  of  me  shall  still 
Brim  toward  the  lips  that  once  I  held  so  dear. 


136        WITH  THE  FOREIGN  LEGION 

So  shall  one  coveting  no  higher  plane 
Than  nature  clothes  in  color  and  flesh  and  tone, 

Even  from  the  grave  put  upward  to  attain  [known; 

The  dreams  youth  cherished  and  missed  and  might  have 

And  that  strong  need  that  strove  unsatisfied 
Toward  earthly  beauty  in  all  forms  it  wore, 

Not  death  itself  shall  utterly  divide 
From  the  beloved  shapes  it  thirsted  for. 

Alas,  how  many  an  adept  for  whose  arms 
Life  held  delicious  offerings  perished  here. 

How  many  in  the  prime  of  all  that  charms, 

Crowned  with  all  gifts  that  conquer  and  endear! 

Honor  them  not  so  much  with  tears  and  flowers. 
But  you  with  whom  the  sweet  fulfillment  lies. 

Where  in  the  anguish  of  atrocious  hours 
Turned  their  last  thoughts  and  closed  their  dying  eyes, 

Rather  when  music  or  bright  gathering  lays 

Its  tender  spell,  and  joy  is  uppermost, 
Be  mindful  of  the  men  they  were,  and  raise 

Your  glasses  to  them  in  one  silent  toast. 

Drink  to  them  —  amorous  of  dear  Earth  as  well. 
They  asked  no  tribute  lovelier  than  this  — 

And  in  the  wine  that  ripened  where  they  fell. 
Oh,  frame  your  lips  as  though  it  were  a  kiss. 

Alan  Seeger, 
Deuxieme  Regiment  Etrangere. 
Champagne,  France,  July,  1915, 


DAVID  W.  KING,  'i6  137 

FROM  DAVID  W.  KING,  '16 
The  letter  from  King,  written  when  his  classmates 
at  Cambridge  had  just  begun  the  peaceful  work  and 
warlike  play  of  their  senior  year,  is  as  follows: 

October  12,  191 5.^ 
On  the  24th  of  September  we  were  moved  up  into 
a  boyau,  so  as  to  be  ready  for  the  attack  the  next 
day.  The  shelling  was  something  hellish,  and  had 
been  going  on  for  three  days  and  nights.  The  morning 
of  the  twenty-fifth  was  foggy,  and  it  was  thought  that 
the  attack  would  be  postponed,  but  about  nine  o'clock 
it  cleared  off  and  we  moved  up  into  the  first  line 
trenches.  If  the  shelling  was  infernal  before,  it  was 
quadruple  then.  We  had  to  cross  a  road  and  get  into 
the  final  sally  trench,  and  I  assure  you,  we  did  it  on  the 
hop,  marmites  landing  bang  on  the  spot,  and  the  air 
full  of  humming-birds  and  insects. 

The  Colonial  Infantry  led  off,  and  we  were  their 
immediate  supports,  following  them  at  one  hundred 
yards'  distance.  They  swept  forward  and  took  trench 
after  trench,  all  demolished  by  our  guns,  and  then  we 
followed  them.  It  was  pretty  to  see  the  effects  of 
training;  we  went  forward  just  as  we  had  done  a 
hundred  times  in  practice. 

^  From  Harvard  Alumni  Bulletin,  March  22, 1916. 


138       WITH  THE  FOREIGN  LEGION 

When  we  had  passed  over  the  first  two  lines  of 
trenches,  we  began  to  get  their  shrapnel,  so  we  halted 
in  close  formation.  Some  one  screamed  on  my  right, 
and  my  gun  was  shattered  in  my  hand.  The  little 
corporal  beside  me  had  got  his  in  the  head.  We  then 
moved  up  into  an  old  German  boyau,  but  there  were 
some  guns  back  of  us,  and  we  got  all  the  marmites 
that  fell  short  of  them;  this  was  not  good  enough,  so 
the  battalion  followed  up  and  we  came  to  a  stop  in  an 
open  field  at  about  four  o'clock.  They  turned  loose 
everything  they  had  on  us  —  shrapnel,  marmites,  air 
torpedoes,  and  mitrailleuses,  and,  as  we  had  advanced 
farther  than  the  rest  of  the  line,  they  had  us  enfiladed. 
About  ten  o'clock,  they  moved  us  to  a  little  ridge 
twenty-five  metres  back,  and  told  us  to  dig  ourselves 
in.  It  was  raining  hard  and  we  were  lying  flat  in  the 
mud,  so  you  may  be  sure  we  were  glad  of  the  exercise. 

Morning  found  us  in  individual  shelter-holes,  and 
just  as  well,  for  at  day-break  the  fun  began  again.  We 
lay  there  all  day,  on  an  exposed  crest.  I  forgot  to  say 
that  during  the  night,  fifty  yards  ahead  in  a  work 
where  the  first  line  was,  we  suddenly  heard  a  deuce  of  a 
row,  shouts,  shots,  and  all  sorts  of  confusion.  Sud- 
denly a  bugle  rang  out  with  ^^  Au  drapeau,^'  and  then 
the  Charge.  Then  there  was  a  lot  of  French  cheering 
and  silence.    It  seems  that  the  Boches  had  made  a 


DAVID  W.  KING,  'i6  139 

counter  and  the  regiment  in  front  was  broken  and 
scattering.  It  flashed  over  one  of  our  ^^  clarions/'  who 
found  himself  with  them,  to  sound  the  Charge.  It  is 
forbidden  to  use  bugle  calls,  but  this  time  it  pulled 
them  together,  and  they  pushed  the  Boches  back  with 
"Rosalie."  We  didn't  know  what  to  do;  we  could 
only  stand  fast  till  they  were  driven  back  on  us,  but 
we  almost  went  crazy  when  they  blew  that  charge,  — 
it  sure  was  inspiring.  The  thick  gutteral  shouts,  and 
then  clear  through  it  all:  — 

'Y  a  de  la  goutte  a  boir'  la  haut, 
' Y  a  de  la  goutte  a  boir' ! 

Well,  we  spent  the  twenty-sixth  in  the  field,  as  I  say; 
nothing  to  mention.  That  night  they  got  our  range 
with  marmites.  One  of  our  sergeants  was  buried  alive, 
and  we  had  to  dig  him  out  under  fire;  just  in  time  too; 
he  was  gasping  like  a  fish  when  we  got  him. 

The  morning  of  the  twenty-seventh,  we  went  back 
two  hundred  yards  and  held  a  boyau.  Some  hell  it 
was  too;  it  was  an  old  Boche  boyau,  and  they  had  the 
range  down  pat.  I  was  working  up  on  its  lalus,  and 
they  dropped  one  bang  into  it.  It  blew  me  over 
backward,  and  when  I  picked  myself  up,  there  was 
thick  black  smoke  pouring  out  of  the  trench;  no  one 
killed.    Some  luck! 


I40        WITH  THE  FOREIGN  LEGION 

More  rain  that  night,  but  we  got  some  food.  The 
morning  of  the  twenty-eighth,  we  were  moved  across 
the  whole  field  to  make  an  attack  on  our  right.  I 
believe  our  battalion  was  cited  in  the  order  of  the  Army 
for  their  conduct  under  the  shelling  and  fire  we  got. 
We  got  into  a  little  woods  just  before  our  rush  for  the 
final  position,  and  the  section  on  our  right  got  a  mar- 
mite  bang  in  its  centre.  I  looked  around  to  see  what 
looked  Hke  a  football  scrimmage  wreathed  in  smoke,  — 
just  a  whirl  of  men  and  smoke.  I  had  no  time  to  see 
any  more,  as  we  had  to  cover  the  last  gap  at  a  run. 

We  arrived  in  position  behind  a  little  wood  and 
there  found  out  that  the  rest  had  attacked  before  our 
arrival,  had  hit  the  barbed  wire,  and  had  been  wiped 
out.    We  didn't  attack. 

Late  that  night  we  returned  to  the  hoyau.  More 
rain  on  the  morning  of  the  twenty-ninth.  Same 
manoeuvre;  we  crossed  the  whole  front  again,  got 
into  the  same  position,  dug  ourselves  in  and  waited; 
were  shelled  all  day  but  lost  practically  nothing. 

We  spent  the  night  in  the  holes  we  dug. 

We  spent  the  thirtieth  in  the  same  holes.  That  night 
we  took  over  some  advance  ditches  and  converted 
them  into  trenches. 

More  shelling.  We  spent  the  first  (October)  in  the 
same  place.    The  night  of  the  second,  we  were  relieved, 


DAVID  W.  KING,  'i6  141 

and,  after  working  all  day,  we  were  marched  back 
thirty  miles.  We  got  there  the  morning  of  the  third, 
cleaned  our  rifles,  found  our  mail,  and  camped  under 
canvas.  On  the  morning  of  the  fourth,  there  were 
rumors  that  we  were  to  return  that  night.  At  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning  of  the  fifth  they  called  us  out, 
and  off  we  went.  Arrived  in  the  third  line,  and  slept  in 
arms.  We  were  in  reserve  all  day  of  the  sixth,  as  there 
was  an  attack  in  front.  The  Tirailleurs  Senegalais 
attacked,  but  were  checked.  The  Zouaves,  on  their 
right,  attacked,  took  their  trench,  and  then  took  the 
one  that  the  Tirailleurs  were  to  have  taken. 

We  spent  the  night  in  the  same  place.  There  was  a 
Dutch  gunner  who  had  the  direction  down  pat.  He 
didn't  deviate  one  millimetre  from  the  point  of  my 
nose,  but  he  didn't  have  the  distance  at  all;  he  was 
making  wonderful  guesses  at  it  all  through  the  night. 
It  quite  spoiled  my  sleep. 

The  night  of  the  eighth,  we  came  up  here.  It's  the 
deuce  of  a  place.  We  work  on  the  front  line  all  night, 
and  they  amuse  themselves  by  dropping  shrapnel  and 
marmites  into  the  working  parties.  During  the  day 
we  are  supposed  to  rest,  but  there  are  batteries  all 
around  us,  and  the  consequence  is  that  the  Boches  are 
always  feeling  around  them,  and  the  guns  themselves 
make  such  a  fiendish  racket  that  we  are  almost  deaf. 


142        WITH  THE  FOREIGN  LEGION 

To  make  things  more  cheerful,  as  we  were  going  to 
work,  a  shell  burst  near  my  best  friend  (F.  W.  Zinn) 
who  was  walking  just  ahead  of  me,  and  he  got  a  piece 
in  the  side.  It  did  not  penetrate,  but  it  made  a  bad 
contusion  just  under  his  heart,  and  I  am  afraid  it 
smashed  some  ribs.  There  were  no  Red  Cross  workers 
nearby,  so  I  had  to  take  him  back.  He  could  hardly 
breathe  when  I  got  him  to  the  poste  de  secours.  Lucky 
devil!  He  will  get  a  month's  rest,  but  I  miss  him  like 
anything,  as  friends  are  pretty  scarce  around  here. 


FROM  THE  LETTERS  OF  H.  W.  FARNSWORTH,  *i2 

When  the  European  War  began,  Henry  Weston 
Farnsworth,  '12,  was  in  Mexico  as  a  correspondent 
of  the  Providence  Journal.  An  eager  lover  of  life 
outside  the  beaten  paths,  he  had  already  seen 
something  of  one  war  —  in  the  Balkans  —  and  had 
published  a  book,  "  The  Log  of  a  Would-be  War- 
Correspondent."  Again  he  set  out  for  Europe,  and 
before  the  end  of  1914  found  himself  in  Paris,  a 
candidate  for  enlistment  in  the  Foreign  Legion  of 
the  French  Army.  The  following  passages  from  his 
letters  between  January  i  and  September  of  191 5 
will  give  some  glimpses  of  the  heroic  service  in 


HENRY  W.  FARNSWORTH,  '12         143 

which  he  met  his  death  at  Tahure  on  September  29, 
1 9 1 5 .  His  schoolmate  at  Groton  and  fellow  gradu- 
ate of  Harvard,  Victor  Chapman,  '13,  whose  own 
death  in  the  French  aviation  service  nine  months 
later  is  recounted  in  the  later  pages  of  this  book, 
was  also  a  member  of  the  Legion  when  Farnsworth 
fell,  and  on  November  2,  191 5,  wrote  thus  of  his 
death  to  Groton  School:  "  I  suppose  you  have 
heard  by  now  that  Henry  Farnsworth  was  killed 
in  Champagne  in  the  last  days  of  September.  A 
brave  fellow  he  was  and  a  gallant  one.  The  two  or 
three  times  I  met  him  at  college  he  made  little  im- 
pression; but  in  the  months  I  knew  him  in  the 
Legion,  I  respected  him  and  enjoyed  him  more  and 
more.  When  everything  was  going  badly,  ...  he 
was  always  optimistic,  serene,  and  an  immense 
moral  force  in  his  company.  ^  Leave  the  Legion  ? 
Never! '  When  we  were  transferred  to  the  2°"®  de 
Marche  and  the  true  Legion,  then  he  was  exultant. 
Many  of  the  2°"®  felt  insulted  to  be  put  with  the 
*  desperate  characters,'  but  he  only  told  them  since 
they  had  come  to  fight  they  should  be  the  more 
happy  to  be  put  with  the  most  fearless  —  perhaps 
the  most  famous  regiment  in  France,  since  the  9th 


144        WITH  THE  FOREIGN  LEGION 

of  May  and  the  i6th  of  June.  I  knew  he  could 
have  wished  for  nothing  more  glorious  than  to  die 
as  he  did  when  the  fitrangere  covered  itself  with 
honor  on  the  29th.  The  Tirailleurs  Algeriens 
jQinched  on  the  right,  but  his  battalion  went  on 
and  was  demolished." 

The  ensuing  passages  from  Henry  Farnsworth's 
letters  to  his  family  shall  be  anticipated  by  no  more 
than  a  single,  censored  passage  from  one  of  them: 
"  If  anything  happens  to  me  you  can  be  sure  that 
it  was  on  the  way  to  victory,  for  these  troops  have 
been  .  .  .  but  never  beaten." 

Paris,  January  i,  1915. 

I  AM  trying  to  join  the  Legion.  Of  course,  I  may  have 
to  drill  for  two,  or  even  three  months,  and  that  will 
delay  matters;  but  on  the  other  hand,  a  company  of 
recruits  was  sent  right  into  the  first  line  after  two 
weeks'  training,  to  replace  a  company  that  had  been 
wiped  out.  The  new  volunteers  in  the  Legion  —  those 
that  joined  during  the  month  of  September  —  were 
sent  forward  in  November  and  have  had  heavy  losses. 
That  may  mean  that  we  shall  be  wanted  to  fill  up  gaps. 
At  the  worst  we  are  bound  to  take  part  in  the  big 
spring  campaign  when  the  serious  offensive  begins,  and 


HENRY  W.  FARNSWORTH,  '12         145 

with  a  stroke  of  luck  I  might  be  in  at  the  death  —  the 
Prussian  death,  that  is. 

January  5. 
I  GO  into  barracks  here  in  Paris,  and,  as  soon  as  a 
company  is  ready,  on  to  the  front.  The  joining  was  to 
me  very  solemn.  After  being  stripped  and  examined 
as  carefully  as  a  horse,  and  given  a  certificate  of  "  apti- 
tude,'' I  went  to  another  place  and  was  sworn  in.  A 
little  old  man  with  two  medals  and  a  glistening  eye 
looked  over  my  papers,  and  then  in  a  strong  voice 
asked  if  I  was  prepared  to  become  a  soldier  of  France, 
and,  if  asked  to,  lay  down  my  life  for  her  cause.  Then 
I  signed,  and  was  told  to  report  the  next  morning,  and 
be  prepared  to  start  training  at  once.  Lately  I  have 
come  to  love  Paris  beyond  all  cities,  and  now  I 
think  in  a  dim  way  I  can  understand  how  the 
French  love  it. 

Paris,  January  9,  191 5. 

I  HAVE  now  been  five  days  in  the  Legion,  and  am  be- 
ginning to  feel  at  home  there.  We  are  at  present  in  the 
barracks  of  Reuilly,  but  already  there  is  talk  of  going 
to  the  front.  .  .  . 

As  for  the  Legion  —  as  far  as  I  have  seen  it  so  far 
—  it  is  not  much  like  its  reputation.  ...  In  the  first 
place,  there  is  no ''  tough  "  element  at  all.   Many  of  the 


146        WITH  THE  FOREIGN  LEGION 

men  are  educated,  and  the  very  lowest  is  of  the  high- 
class  workman  type.    In  my  room,  for  instance,  there 

are  "  Le  Petit  Pere  U ,"  an  old  Alsacian,  who  has 

already  served  fourteen  years  in  the  Legion  in  China 
and  Morocco;  the  Corporal  L ,  a  Socialist  well- 
known  in  his  own  district;    E ,  a  Swiss  cotton 

broker  from  Havre;  D C ,  a  newspaper  man, 

and  short-story  writer,  who  will  not  serve  in  the  Eng- 
lish Army  because  his  family  left  England  in  1745, 
with  the  exception  of  his  father,  who  was  Captain  in 

the  Royal  Irish  Fusiliers;   S ,  a  Fijian  student  at 

Oxford,  black  as  ink;   H ,  a  Dane,  over  six  feet 

whom  C aptly  calls,  "  the  blond  beast "  (Vide 

Zarathustra) ;    von  somebody,  another  Dane,   very 

small  and  young;  B ,  a  Swiss  carpenter,  born  and 

bred  in  the  Alps,  who  sings,  when  given  a  half  Htre  of 
canteen  wine,  far  better  than  most  comic-opera  stars 
and  who  at  times  does  the  ranze-des-vaches  so  that  even 

Petit  Pere  U claps;  the  brigadier  M ,   a  little 

Russian;  two  or  three  Polish  Jews,  nondescript  Bel- 
gians, Greeks,  Roumanians,  etc.  I  already  have 
enough  to  write  a  long  (10,000  word)  article,  and  at 
the  end  of  the  campaign  can  write  a  book  truly 
interesting.  .  .  . 

We  live  in  the  Caserne  de  Reuilly  in  the  barracks  of 
the  46th  regiment  de  ligne,  a  very  well-known  regiment 


HENRY  W.  FARNSWORTH,  '12         147 

who  have  been  in  all  the  wars  since  1650,  and  have 
their  campaigns  painted  on  the  wall.  Also  it  is  the 
oldest  and  most  uncomfortable  barracks  in  town.  It 
is  about  a  mile  from  the  Place  de  la  Bastille  and  in  the 
quartier  du  Faubourg  St.  Antoine.  We  rise  at  6.30, 
drink  one  cup  of  coffee,  and  drill  from  7.30  to  9.30, 
good  fast  drill  with  guns  at  the  regulation  French 
"  carry  arms,"  a  hellish  position,  most  of  the  time. 
At  10.30  la  soupe,  and  rest  until  12.30.  Then  drill  till 
3.45,  clean  arms,  more  soup  at  5,  and  freedom  till 
8.30.  It  is  hard  on  those  in  soft  condition,  but  easy 
for  the  others.  .  .  . 

C is  a  really  interesting  man;    Harrow,  and 

then  all  over  the  world  in  most  capacities.  He  never 
mentions  it,  but  I  suspect  from  certain  tricks  of  the 

trade  that  I  picked  up  from  R ,  whom  he  knows, 

that  he  is  no  stranger  to  the  British  secret  service.  His 
acquaintance  in  Paris  is  of  the  amusing  type.  He  has 
already  taken  me  up  to  the  Daily  Mail  ofhce  —  where 
I  met  some  very  nice  men,  among  others,  S.  Ward 
Pryce,  whom  I  knew  slightly  in  Turkey,  and  Rourke, 
whom  I  knew  pretty  well  in  Vera  Cruz  and  Mexico. 
All  these  people  seem  to  respect  us  very  much  for 

joining  the  Legion.     C is  not  over  respectable, 

from  the  New  York,  New  England  standpoint,  but  he 
is  a  man  and  a  gentleman,  for  a'  that  —  Scotch  of 


148        WITH  THE  FOREIGN  LEGION 

course,  by  descent,  although  of  French  upbringing,  in 
spite  of  an  English  school. 

L ,  our  Corporal,  is  also  worth  knowing  —  of 

Belgian  descent,  although  in  Paris  since  six  years  of 
age.  He  is  of  the  type  which  brought  victory  to  the 
French  Revolution.  Wounded  at  the  beginning  of  the 
War,  he  asked  to  go  back  to  the  front;  but  when  re- 
quested to  stay  and  drill  recruits,  he  accepted  on  the 
condition  that  he  might  remain  a  corporal.  He  does 
not  approve  of  authority,  and  if  all  men  were  like  him 
it  would  not  be  necessary.  Like  all  Sociahsts  he  likes 
to  argue.  Last  night,  after  the  lights  were  out,  he 
began  to  argue  with  the  cotton  broker  and  became 

very  heated.    So  much  so  that  C was  afraid  of  bad 

blood.    The  broker  had  announced  himself  as  a  radical 

anti-clerical.    Finally  C made  himself  heard,  and 

L ,  angrily  asked  him  his  party.  ^'  French  Tradi- 
tional RoyaHst,"  repHed  C ;   and  L gave  up 

with  a  good-natured  laugh.     Extremes  met.    B 

began,  "  Nous  sommes  tons  les  freres,^^  the  Legion's 
song,  and  all  passed  over. 

March,  1915. 

When  I  wrote  to  Mother  last,  bombs  were  bursting  not 
far  away,  and  two  of  the  bunch  had  already  been 
slightly  hurt,  but  I  was  not  yet  a  soldier.  Now  I  am; 
having  just  come  back  from  four  days  in  the  trenches. 


HENRY  W.  FARNSWORTH,  *I2         149 

At  the  moment  I  am  sitting  in  the  sun  and  writing  on 
the  back  of  a  biscuit  tin,  which  came  last  night  to 

S .    The  idleness  is  explained  by  the  fact  that  six 

of  us  are  mounting  guard  in  a  Httle  wood  outside  of  the 
village.  I  have  been  washing  clothes  all  the  morning, 
and  am  now  about  to  cook  some  macaroni,  also  the 
property  of  S .  The  same  kind  soul  has  also  pro- 
vided me  with  some  good  cigarettes.  There  is  a  little 
hint  of  warmth  in  the  sun  —  only  random  rifle  shots 
and  a  distant  battery,  and  the  quacking  of  wild  ducks 
breaks  the  silence. 

...  I  have  not  the  time  here  to  try  to  put  you  in 
the  full  atmosphere  of  the  trenches  and  their  sensa- 
tions and  reactions.  You  read  the  papers  and  know 
that  there  is  a  deal  of  mud  and  water  and  cold,  and 

not  overmuch  room.    S ,  C ,  and  myself  are 

stationed  in  an  avant  petit  poste.  Our  cabin  was  10 
by  5  by  4,  and,  all  of  us  being  lazy  souls,  filled  with  no 
ordinary  clutter  and  dirt.     All  day  we  slept,  ate, 

cleaned  our  trenches  and  rifles,  and  smoked  S 's 

tobacco.  Then  came  the  magic  of  the  nights.  At  sun- 
down we  began  to  do  sentry,  hour  on  and  hour  off  till 
daylight.  We  were  about  50  metres  from  the  German 
trenches,  and  not  allowed  to  shoot  (why  I  don't  know). 
As  the  night  grows  and  you  stand  crouching  and 
watching  for  any  sign  of  life  ahead  of  you,  the  very  air 


I50        WITH  THE  FOREIGN  LEGION 

seems  to  come  to  life.  All  is  still,  nobody  talks  above  a 
whisper,  and  all  lights  are  out.  From  trenches,  all  along 
the  maze  of  line,  shots  crack  out  and  stray  impersonal 
bullets  whiz  by  on  unknown  errands.  A  huge  rocket 
candle  shoots  up  and  hangs  for  a  moment  above  the 
earth  lighting  up  a  section  of  the  country;  big  guns 
boom  out,  and  shells,  like  witches  riding  to  a  feast, 
whiz  by.  Sometimes  with  a  whistle  and  bang  a  half 
dozen  "75's'^  swoop  over  like  a  covey  of  devil's  quail, 
and  we  stand  crouching  and  watching  for  any  sign  of 
human  life.  It  never  came.  Just  the  impersonal  bang 
and  whistle. 

I  must  do  my  cooking  now  and  leave  a  lot  unsaid. 
We  go  again  to  the  trenches  in  two  days.  .  .  . 

May  19,  1915. 
I  AM  writing  once  again  from  a  new  cantonment,  this 
time  after  six  days  in  the  trenches.  Thank  God,  the 
repos  of  our  regiment  is  over.  They  woke  us  up  at 
three  one  morning.  "  Allez  hop!  Sac  au  dos  et  en 
route.''  We  trooped  off  on  a  hot,  muggy  morning,  and 
did  thirteen  kilometres  before  the  grande  halte  which 
was  held  in  a  small  village.  Here  for  the  first  time  it 
was  definitely  known  that  we  were  bound  to  relieve  a 
battahon  of  Tirailleurs  Algeriens  in  trenches,  some 
twelve  kilometres  further  on.   We  ate  and  lay  about  on 


HENRY  W.  FARNSWORTH,  '12         151 

the  grass  all  the  afternoon,  and  at  seven  heaved  up  our 
sacks  once  more  and  went  off  at  the  command,  "  Pas 
de  route.  En  avant  marche,''  which  means  a  long  jour- 
ney ahead.  In  the  gathering  darkness  we  passed 
through  a  couple  of  villages  where  the  Tirailleurs  were 
drawn  up  on  both  sides  of  the  streets.  As  the  stars 
began  to  come  out  we  approached  a  black  Pelleas  et 
Melisande  sort  of  forest  with  high  towering  oaks  and 
small  young  birches,  and  beech  in  amongst.  We  pass- 
ed through  a  high  gateway  of  ancient  brick,  with  the 
top  of  the  coat  of  arms  shot  off  by  a  shell.  Inside  the 
woods  it  was  so  dark  we  had  to  go  in  single  file,  each 
holding  to  the  back  of  the  other's  pack.  Big  guns  were 
pounding  occasionally  in  their  mysterious  way,  and  the 
big  war  rockets  at  times  sent  their  light  flickering 
through  the  trees  so  far  over  our  heads.  In  time  we 
came  out  on  a  brick  wall,  pierced  with  loop-holes  and 
shattered  by  shells.  All  was  dim  in  the  starlight,  for 
there  was  no  moon.  There  the  boyau  began,  two  kilo- 
metres of  it,  narrow  and  deep.  Before  our  backs  broke 
we  came  to  our  trenches,  and  found  the  Arabs  already 
at  the  entrance  with  their  sacks  beside  them.  In 
silence  we  threw  our  packs  on  the  cabins  allotted.  The 
most  of  the  sections  slept,  and  our  squad  took  the 
guard.  The  Arabs  went  off  wishing  us  good  luck,  and 
once  more  after  six  weeks  I  was  alone  under  the  stars 


152        WITH  THE  FOREIGN  LEGION 

—  peculiar  gun-broken  silence,  watching  my  section, 
leaning  on  my  rifle  watching  the  rockets  and  thinking 
long  thoughts.  .  .  . 

May  30,  191 5. 

...  Of  the  last  six  days  in  the  lines  rien  a  signaler, 
except  two  patrols  which  lacked  nothing  but  the  Ger- 
mans to  make  them  successful.  Between  the  lines  is  a 
broad  fertile  field  of  beet  sugar  and  clover.  It  grows 
high  enough  to  hide  a  m.an  crawling  on  his  stomach, 
and  in  spots  even  on  all  fours.  It  is  here  that  the 
patrols  take  place.  The  first  was  an  attempted  am- 
buscade. Fifteen  of  us,  with  an  adjutant,  a  sergeant, 
and  two  corporals,  went  out  and  hid  in  a  spot  where 
Germans  had  been  seen  twice  before.  None  appeared. 
The  next  night  seven  of  us  were  detailed  to  carry 
French  papers,  telling  of  Italy's  declaration  of  war, 
into  the  German  lines.  We  crawled  from  nine  o'clock 
till  11.30,  and  succeeded  in  sticking  papers  on  their 
barbed  wire.  They  have  since  then  steadily  ignored 
them,  much  to  our  disgust. 

There  is  a  certain  fascination  in  all  this,  dull  though 
it  may  seem.  The  patrol  is  selected  in  the  afternoon. 
At  sunset  we  meet  to  make  the  plans  and  tell  each  man 
his  duty;  then  at  dark  our  pockets  are  filled  with 
cartridges,  a  drawn  bayonet  in  the  belt,  and  our  maga- 


HENRY  W.  FARNSWORTH,  'l2        153 

zines  loaded  to  the  brim.  We  go  along  the  boyau  to  the 
petit  poste  from  which  it  is  decided  to  leave.  All  along 
the  line  the  sentinels  wish  us  good  luck  and  a  safe 
return.  In  the  petit  poste  we  clamp  on  the  bayonets, 
blow  noses,  clear  throats,  and  prepare  for  three  hours 
of  utter  silence.  At  a  word  from  the  chief  we  form 
line  in  the  prearranged  order.  The  sentries  wish  us 
luck  for  the  last  time,  and  the  chief  jumps  up  on  the 
edge  of  the  trenches  and  begins  to  work  his  way 
quickly  through  the  barbed  wire.  Once  outside  he 
disappears  in  the  beet  weeds,  and  one  after  another  we 
follow.  Then  begins  the  crawl  to  the  appointed  spot. 
We  go  slowly  with  frequent  halts.  Every  sound  must 
by  analyzed.  On  the  occasion  of  the  would-be  ambush 
I  admit  I  went  to  sleep  after  a  while  in  the  warm  fresh 
clover  where  we  lay.  It  was  the  adjutant  himself  who 
woke  me  up  with  a  slight  hiss,  but,  as  he  chose  me 
again  next  night,  he  does  not  seem  to  have  thought  it  a 
serious  matter.  Then  too,  once  home  we  do  not  mount 
guard  all  the  rest  of  the  night  and  are  allowed  to  sleep 
in  the  morning;  also  there  are  small  but  pleasing  dis- 
cussions of  the  affair  and,  above  all,  the  hope  of  some 
night  suddenly  leaping  out  of  the  darkness,  hand  to 
hand  with  the  Germans.  .  .  . 


154       WITH  THE  FOREIGN  LEGION 

June  4,  1915. 

.  .  .  There  are  obvious  drawbacks  to  being  a  soldier 
of  second  class,  but  I  was  always  a  runner  after  the 
picturesque,  and  in  good  weather  am  not  one  who 
troubles  much  where  I  sleep  —  or  when,  and  the 
picturesque  is  ever  with  us. 

It  so  happened  that  the  Captain  was  pleased  with 
our  bringing  the  papers  to  the  Germans,  and  gave  the 
seven  of  us  twenty  francs  to  prepare  a  little  fete. 
What  an  unforgettable  supper!  There  was  the  Ser- 
geant, Z ,  a  Greek  of  classic  type  who  won  his 

spurs  at  Zanina,  and  his  stripes  in  the  Bulgarian  cam- 
paign. Since  he  has  been  a  medical  student  in  Paris  — 
that  to  please  his  family,  for  his  heart  runs  in  different 
channels,  and  he  studies  music  and  draws,  in  his  spare 
time.  From  the  amount  he  knows  I  should  judge  that 
"  spare  ''  time  predominated.  We  first  fell  into  sym- 
pathy over  the  Acropolis,  and  cemented  a  true  friend- 
ship over  Turkish  war  songs  and  Byzantine  chants, 
which  he  sings  with  a  mournful  romanticism  that  I 
never  heard  before.  Then  there  was  N ,  the  Com- 
pany Clarion,  serving  his  twelfth  year  in  the  Legion, 
an  incredible  little  Swiss,  tougher  than  the  drums  of 
the  fore  and  aft,  and  wise  as  Nestor  in  the  futile  ruses 
of  the  regiment. 


HENRY  W.  FARNSWORTH,  '12         155 

The  Corporal,  M ,  a  Legionary  wounded  during 

the  winter,  and  cited  for  bravery  in  the  order  of  the 
army  —  he  was  a  commercial  traveler  in  his  native 
grand  Duchy  of  Luxembourg,  but  decided  some  five 
years  ago  to  leave  his  debts  and  troubles  behind  him 
and  become  a  "  Petit  Zephyr  de  la  Legion  Etrangere  " ; 

S ,  a  butcher  from  the  same  Grand  Duchy,  a  man 

of  iron  physically,  and  morally  and  mentally  unimport- 
ant; C ,  a  Greek  of  Smyrna  who  might  have  spread 

his  silks  and  laces  at  the  feet  of  a  feudal  princess  and 
charmed  her  with  his  shining  eye  and  wild  gestures, 
into  buying  beyond  her  means:  he  also  has  been  cited 

for  reckless  gallantry.    S and  myself  brought  up 

the  list.    We  were  all  in  good  spirits  and  flattered,  and 

I  being  in  funds,  put  in  10  francs  and  S the  same. 

Some  of  us  drank  as  deep  as  Socrates,  and  we  ate  a 

mammoth  salad  under  the  stars.    N and  M 

talked  of  the  battalion  in  the  Sahara,  and  Z sang 

his  eastern  songs,  and  even  S was  moved  to  Ton- 

gan  chants.  Like  Aeneas  on  Polyphemus  Isle,  I  feel 
that  some  years  hence,  well  out  of  tune  with  all  sur- 
roundings, I  shall  be  longing  for  the  long  warm  summer 
days  in  northern  France  when  we  slept  like  birds  under 
the  stars,  among  congenial  friends,  when  no  man  ever 
thought  of  the  morrow,  and  you  changed  horizons  with 
each  new  conversation.  .  .  . 


156        WITH  THE  FOREIGN  LEGION 

June  lo,  191 5. 

...    I  wrote  E how  S and  I  fell  in  for  the 

job  of  observaleur.  It  was  decided  after  the  first  night 
that  the  roof  where  the  post  was  situated  was  insuffi- 
cient.   Shortly  after  finishing  my  letter  to  E ,  the 

Captain  came  along  and  sent  us  out  to  hunt  up  a 
better  place.  We  at  once  seized  on  the  belfry  of  the 
ruined  church,  and  found  that,  though  in  a  terribly  de- 
lapidated  state,  it  would  still  bear  our  weight  on  the 
very  top.  The  view  from  there  was  excellent.  At 
night-time  we  mounted  for  the  first  time,  accompanied 
by  the  Russian  corporal  in  charge  of  us.  He  turned 
out  to  be  what  we'd  call  a  "  married  man,"  meaning 
one  with  whom  the  thoughts  of  wife  and  family  weigh 
more  than  the  "  lure  of  danger.''  The  wretched  man 
protested  bitterly,  but  we  had  already  boosted  up 
straw  into  the  room  under  the  belfry,  and  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  let  us  sleep  there.  Not  a  shot 
was  fired  all  night  long  and  the  night  after  we  went  up 
in  the  fortified  tower  which  the  artillery  had  just  given 
up.  To  the  north  of  us  the  French  have  made  a  suc- 
cessful attack,  and  to  the  south  there  has  been  terrible 
rumbling  of  heavy  artillery. 

I  suppose  some  day  it  will  have  to  be  our  turn. 
When  it  does,  everything  being  comparative,  I  am 


HENRY  W.  FARNSWORTH,  '12        157 

more  and  more  sure  that  I  shall  be  able  to  give  a  good 
account  of  myself.  .  .  . 

August,  191 5. 

.  .  .  The  other  day  we  were  waked  at  2  a.m.  and  at 
3  sent  off  in  a  pouring  rain  for  some  indefinite  place 
across  the  mountains  for  a  divisional  review.  We 
went  off  slowly  through  the  wet  darkness,  but  about 
dawn  the  sun  came  out,  and  as  is  usual  with  the  Legion, 
everybody  cheered  up,  and  at  7  a.m.  we  arrived  at  the 
parade  ground,  after  fifteen  kilometres,  in  very  good 
spirits.  The  two  regiments  of  Zouaves  from  Africa 
were  already  drawn  up.  We  formed  up  beside  them 
and  then  came  the  two  Tirailleurs  regiments,  their 
colors  with  them,  then  the  second  fitrangere,  2,000 
strong,  and  finally  a  squadron  of  Chasseurs  d'Afrique. 
We  all  stacked  arms  and  lay  about  on  the  grass  till 
8.30.  Suddenly  the  Zouave  bugles  crashed  out,  sound- 
ing the  "  garde  a  vous/^  and  in  two  minutes  the  divi- 
sion was  lined  up,  every  man  stiff  as  a  board  —  and  all 
the  time  the  bugles  ringing  angrily  from  up  the  line, 
and  the  short  staccato  trumpets  of  the  Chasseurs 
answering  from  the  other  extremity. 

The  ringing  stopped  suddenly,  and  the  voices  of  the 
colonels  crying,  "  Bayonnettes  aux  cannons/'  sounded 
thin  and  long  drawn  out,  and  were  drowned  by  the 


158        WITH  THE  FOREIGN  LEGION 

flashing  rattle  of  the  bayonets  going  on;  a  moment  of 
perfect  silence  and  then  the  slow  courtly  sounding  of 
the  "  general,  general,  qui  passe,  "  broken  by  the 
occasional  crash  as  regiment  after  regiment  presented 
arms.  Slowly  the  general  rode  down  the  lines  with  the 
two  brigadiers  and  a  division  general  in  his  suite. 
Then  came  the  Defile.  The  Zouaves  led  off  —  their 
bugles  play  "  A  tu  vu  la  casquette,  la  casquette.^^ 
Then  the  Tirailleurs  playing  some  march  of  their  own, 
slow  and  fine,  the  bugles  answering  the  scream  of  the 
Arab  reed  flutes  as  though  Loeffler  had  led  them.  Then 
the  Legion,  the  2™®  Etrangere,  swinging  in  beside  us 
at  the  double,  and  all  the  bugles  crashed  out  with  the 
Legion  marching  song  "  Tien?,  voild  du  boudin  pour 
les  Beiges,  y  en  a  pour  les  Beiges  y  en  a  parce  que'ils 
sont  des  tons  soldats  —  pour  les  Suisses  y  en  a  et 
les  Alsatiens,  Lorraines,  etc."  —  on  and  on,  went  the 
bugles,  playing  that  light  slangy  tune,  some  of  the 
verses  of  which  would  make  Rabelais  shudder  and  the 
minor  variations  of  which  bring  up  pictures  of  the  Le- 
gion marching  with  thin  ranks  in  foreign,  blazing  lands, 
and  the  drums  of  which,  tapping  slowly  sound  Hke  the 
feet  of  the  regiment  scrunching  through  desert  sand. 

It  was  all  very  glorious  to  see  and  hear,  and,  to  wind 
up,  the  Chasseurs  went  by  at  the  gallop,  going  off  to 
their  quarters.    To  wind  up  the  day,  the  Colonel  took 


HENRY  W.  FARNSWORTH,  '12        159 

us  home  straight  over  the  mountain  —  fourteen  kilo- 
metres over  mountain  goat  tracks.  When  we  got  in 
at  3.30  P.M.,  having  had  nothing  to  eat  but  a  bit  of 
bread,  three  sardines,  and  a  finger  of  cheese,  few  of 
the  men  were  really  exhausted.  It  was  then  I  got 
your  letter  about  the  training  camp.  Really  it  did 
make  me  feel  a  bit  superior  and  make  me  think  less 
than  ever  of  our  military  system  —  and  if  possible, 
more  of  the  French.  I  don't  think  any  other  army 
would  have  done  it  on  the  food  ration  we  did,  and  even 

S admitted  that  it  was  doubtful  if  many  English 

regiments  would  have  done  it  under  any  condi- 
tions. ... 

September  23,  1915. 

We  are  now  moving  again,  and  I  have  hopes  that  the 
repos  is  over.  To  be  sure,  we  are  not  up  to  anything 
very  exciting  as  yet,  only  trench-digging  in  a  section 
duller  than  any  as  yet  seen,  but  once  out  of  the  infernal 
village,  I  have  hopes  that  we  will  not  go  back  there. 

As  usual  we  left  at  2  a.m.,  and  marched  under  a  full 
moon  through  a  misty  sunrise  and  on  into  the  early 
heat  of  the  morning,  doing  twenty-seven  kilometres. 
There  we  stopped  for  the  night,  and  went  on  at  i  a.m. 
the  next  day,  the  Captain  wearing  his  Moroccan 
burnous  and  looming  ghostly  white  at  the  head  of  the 
company.    We  did  thirty-one  kilometres,  much  of  it 


i6o        WITH  THE  FOREIGN  LEGION 

up  and  down  steep  hills,  and  some  of  the  men  got  sore 
feet  and  fell  out.  I  was  so  glad  to  hear  the  booming 
of  the  cannon  again  that  I  was  more  than  healthily 
weary  of  the  sac,  and  could  have  done  ten  or  fifteen 
more  in  the  afternoon  after  a  "  grande  halte.^'  .  .  . 

The  surroundings  here  are  no  more  sordid  than  those 
of  the  common  soldier  anywhere,  and  as  long  as  you  are 
soldiering,  I  think  it  as  well  to  do  it  with  people  who 
are  soldiers  to  the  very  marrow  of  their  bones.  As  for 
my  "  refinement  "  and  fears  that  I  may  lose  it,  my 
hands  are  in  poor  form,  rather  toughened,  and  natur- 
ally I  have  picked  up  a  lot  of  argot,  otherwise  I  have 
of  late  been  reading  Charles  Lamb,  Pickwick,  Plu- 
tarch, and  a  deal  of  cheap  French  novels,  and  "  War 
and  Peace,"  over  again.  If  I  see  we  are  to  spend  winter 
in  the  trenches  again,  am  thinking  seriously  of  writing 
to  London  for  a  pair  of  real  waterproof,  and  practical 
boots,  and  some  Vicuna  underwear.  H.  G.  Wells's 
"  Ann  Veronica  "  I  found  interesting,  though  it  was 
trite  and  irritating  at  bottom.  I  wonder  if  you  remem- 
ber it.  I  wish  from  time  to  time  you  would  send  me 
one  novel  that  you  find  interesting.  Books  are  too 
heavy  to  carry  when  on  the  move,  naturally  either  in 
French  or  English.  The  State  of  the  German  Mind, 
Plato  or  Kant,  are  not  necessary  for  the  moment,  and 
I  have  read  Milton,  Shakespeare,  and  Dante. 


FROM  A  ROYAL  FIELD  ARTILLERY 
LIEUTENANT 

CHARLES  D.  MORGAN,  '06,  has  had  the 
double  experience  of  serving  with  the  motor 
corps  of  the  American  Ambulance  Hospital  and  as 
a  lieutenant  in  the  Royal  Field  Artillery  of  the 
British  Army  on  the  Western  Front.  At  the  be- 
ginning of  July,  1916,  early  in  the  drive  on  the 
Somme,  he  received  injuries  described  officially  as 
^'  gunshot  wound,  multiple,  slight,"  and  was  taken 
to  a  military  hospital  at  Rouen,  whence  he  was 
moved  to  London.  In  August  he  was  awarded  the 
Military  Cross.  The  following  passages  from 
letters  to  members  of  his  family  afford  glimpses  of 
his  experiences,  both  at  the   front   and  in   the 

hospital. 

November  7,  191 5. 

...  I  went  last  night  to  a  cinema  show  in  a  neigh- 
boring town.  One  entered  mysteriously  from  a  muddy 
dark  street,  through  an  estaminet,  and  along  a  narrow 
passage.  Suddenly  one  was  ushered  into  a  large  audi- 

z6i 


1 62    FIELD  ARTILLERY  LIEUTENANT 

torium  thronged  with  fully  a  thousand  soldiers  —  gray 
with  smoke.  A  balcony  for  officers  around  the  walls. 
We  saw  Charley  ChapUn  and  the  others  —  the  Tom- 
mies thoroughly  enjoyed  it.  I  find  that  the  music-hall 
company  I  heard  the  other  night  is  entirely  made  up 
from  men  and  officers  of  the  Sixth  Division.  They 
were  really  remarkably  good  —  all  professionals  and 
semi-professionals  in  peace-time,  I  should  think. 

November  29,  1915. 

...    I  am  very  busy  at  present,  as  F ,  the  senior 

Sub.  in  this  section,  is  on  leave,  and  I  am  on  the  move 
every  day  keeping  the  old  ship  "  full  and  by."  There 
are  a  thousand  details  of  internal  management  which 
are  petty  in  themselves,  but  keep  one  on  the  jump. 
The  standard  set  for  the  British  officer  is  unquestion- 
ably very  high.  He  must  always  personally  supervise 
every  detail  of  the  nourishment  and  comfort  of  his 
animals  and  men,  and  never  allow  his  own  comfort  to 
come  first.  This  takes  a  bit  of  learning,  for  the  civilian 
mind.  It  is  certainly  a  good  training  in  self-denial  and 
though tfulness  for  others;  and  my  first  impulse,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  is  often  wrong  —  the  lingering,  reflex- 
action  of  bachelordom  and  self-indulgence.  .  .  . 

I  had  a  rather  busy  night  on  Friday  with  a  fatigue 
party  to  dig  a  telephone-wire  trench.    There  was  more 


CHARLES  D.  MORGAN,  b6  163 

or  less  stuff  coming  down  —  of  all  kinds,  each  one  with 
a  different  noise;  while  numerous  of  our  own  batteries 
were  loosing  off  unexpectedly  from  neighboring  hedges 
under  our  noses.  The  effect  on  the  nerves,  one  realizes 
when  one  gets  back  to  quiet  billets,  and  feels  a  sort  of 
let  dov/n  and  '^  thank-God- that's-over "  feehng. 
However,  the  danger  in  this  sort  of  party  is  compara- 
tively small.  It  is  surprising  how  many  shells  it  takes 
to  kill  or  even  wound  one  man.  .  .  . 

January  3,  191 6. 

We  had  expected  to  go  out  of  action  today,  but  now 
find  that  we  are  to  be  kept  in  a  week  longer.  It  is  hard 
on  the  men  who  have  had  a  pretty  bad  doing  in  this 
position  since  October.  However,  our  casualties  have 
been  very  slight. 

I  find  my  nerves  very  much  better  than  those  of  the 
men  who  have  been  out  here  longer  —  it  gives  me  confi- 
dence, and  makes  me  feel  that  I  can  be  of  good  to  the 
battery. 

The  routine  here  is  pretty  strenuous  in  one  way,  and 
slack  in  another.  As  we  are  short-handed,  and  have 
night  turns  at  the  trenches,  at  the  guns,  and  at  the 
observation  post  as  well,  it  means  most  nights  without 
much  sleep,  fully  dressed.  That  is  the  worst  side  of  it. 
On  the  other  hand,  there  is  almost  nothing  to  do 


1 64    FIELD  ARTILLERY  LIEUTENANT 

throughout  the  day,  even  when  on  duty  at  the  0.  P. 
[Observation  Post]  or  trenches,  and  the  time  of  actual 
fire  is  small.  One  cannot  venture  out  for  a  walk,  or 
even  walk  about  the  gun  position  more  than  is  actu- 
ally necessary,  for  fear  of  detection;  so  that  there  is  a 
good  deal  of  time  for  reading  and  letter-writing.  The 
lack  of  exercise  is  the  chief  draw-back  to  such  days. 

My  turn  in  the  trenches  was  most  interesting.  One 
lives  with  the  infantry  ofhcers,  and  takes  part  in  their 
regular  trench  life,  so  that  one  feels  very  much  a  part 
of  it.  Those  of  the  battalion  who  were  in  the  other 
day  —  one  of  the  Lincolns  —  were  first-rate  chaps. 
They  are  the  cheeriest  people  in  the  whole  show  —  in 
fact,  the  nearer  you  get  to  the  line,  the  better  spirits 
you  find,  from  Boulogne  eastward.  They  all  live  in 
dug  outs,  of  course,  and  have  a  rather  more  spacious 
one  for  the  men.  Our  dinner  on  New  Year's  Eve  was 
quite  a  feast,  followed  by  bridge,  and  topped  off  by  a 
bit  of  a  ^'  Strafe  "  on  the  part  of  the  "  Huns  ",  to  which 
our  heavy  guns  replied.  Today  I  am  on  duty  in  the 
0.  P.,  and  we  have  been  doing  what  is  called  register- 
ing our  zone  for  the  benefit  of  an  ofiicer  of  the  incoming 
battery  —  that  is  to  say,  we  fire  at  longer  intervals  over 
our  allotted  target,  and  carefully  watch  the  burst  of 
the  shells  through  our  glasses.    Of  course,  this  zone  has 


CHARLES  D.  MORGAN,  '06  165 

by  this  time  been  so  carefully  registered  that  there  is 
practically  no  correction  to  make.  .  .  . 

April  12,  1916. 

...  I  am  still  in  the  trenches  on  my  twelfth  day  —  a 
bit  long  for  one's  first  tour,  but  I  have  had  excellent 
weather  —  today  the  first  rain  —  and  comparative 
quiet  ^  shellatively '  speaking.  The  machine-gun  fire 
at  night  is  very  obstreperous,  but  I  stick  close  to  my 
smoking  hearth,  and  Hsten  to  them  patter  outside.  My 
dug  out  is  really  a  very  strong  one,  but  has  the  chill  of 
death  unless  the  stove  is  going.  As  we  get  practically 
no  fuel,  and  the  Httle  that  comes  is  non-igniting  coke, 
I  have  domestic  cares.  .  .  . 

I  have  moments  of  loneHness  up  here;  but  I  have 
only  to  pick  up  my  telephone  to  listen  to  a  concert 
which  one  of  the  telephonists  in  an  adjoining  station 
gives  on  his  mouth  organ  for  the  benefit  of  all  the  other 
stations  on  his  circuit.  After  each  number,  there  is  a 
frantic  buzzing  of  Morse  code,  "  splendid,"  "  encore," 
etc.,  from  the  auditors. 

When  the  concert  is  not  in  progress,  one  can  listen 
to  priceless  dialogues  between  the  telephonist  here  and 
his  mate  back  in  the  subsidiary  line  who  will  later 
bring  up  the  rations.  What  these  rations  will  consist 
of  is  topic  A — matter  for  a  good  half  hour's  conversa- 


1 66     FIELD  ARTILLERY  LIEUTENANT 

tion;  topic  B  is  their  next  leave,  and  what  they  will 
do  thereon.  .  .  . 

There  are  many  compensations  for  the  discomforts 
and  hazards  of  this  job.  (i)  You  are  largely  your  own 
boss.  (2)  You  get  (when  the  relief  is  properly  organ- 
ized) six  days  out  of  twelve  absolute  rest,  well  back 
in  comparative  comfort.  (3)  You  are  "  strafing  the 
Hun."  (4)  If  you  are  looking  for  ribbons,  there  are 
lots  of  decorations  knocking  about. 

You  have  greatly  exaggerated  ideas  of  the  dangers 
of  the  gun  itself.  It  is  largely  a  matter  of  care  and 
proper  preparation.  In  a  well-made  position,  the  de- 
tachment are  all  well  under  cover  when  the  gun  is  fired. 
Besides  which,  the  officer  is  usually  some  distance  away 
observing  the  fire  on  the  front  parapet.  Retaliation 
from  the  Hun  is  the  chief  danger,  but  he  finds  it  very 
difiicult  to  absolutely  mark  down  a  position.  If  he 
comes  near,  the  position  is  shifted.  ... 

July  1, 1916. 

I  HAVE  come  through  a  very  trying  and  critical  period. 
We  have  been  on  the  go  for  about  eleven  days;  and  I 
believe  my  battery  (little  174)  has  done  itself  proud, 
and  performed  satisfactorily  the  task  allotted  to  it.  I 
have  never  had  so  much  responsibility,  or  slept  so 
little  for  days  on  end;  but  somehow  I  seem  to  have 


CHARLES  D.  MORGAN,  '06  167 

come  through  extraordinarily  well  —  just  a  healthy 
tired  feehng.  I  hope  to  see  my  way  clear  to  put  in  for 
leave  very  soon.  It  must,  of  course,  depend  on  mihtary 
events.  I  am  beginning  to  feel  rather  hopeful  about 
the  course  of  things  in  general  —  it  is  something  to 
have  seen  the  "  Hun  "  on  the  run,  and  to  view  trenches 
once  held  by  him,  running  over  with  British  troops.  I 
have  seen  many  extraordinary  and  never-to-be-for- 
gotten things  —  it  seems  very  often  that  life  cannot 
possibly  hold  more,  but  new  marvels  befall  the  next 
moment.  My  men  have  been  a  source  of  inspiration 
to  me.  One  couldn't  do  anything  but  one's  best, 
amongst  such  a  splendid  lot;  and  in  humor  and  re- 
partee they  are  a  constant  deHght.  I  am  sorry  to  say 
I  have  lost  several  —  some  of  the  finest  lads  I  had  — 
and  in  a  rather  horrible  way.  You  will  know  all  about 
it  some  day.  I  have  never  found  any  of  them  wanting 
at  a  pinch,  and  feel  really  proud  to  be  in  command  of 
them.  .  .  . 

Hospital  No.  8,  Rouen 

You  mustn't  worry  at  all  about  me  —  it  is  in  no  way 
serious.  I  am  what  might  be  called  "  peppered,"  a 
number  of  small  shrapnel  wounds  all  over  my  body. 
No  vital  spot  was  hit.  I  narrowly  missed  losing  an 
cyCj  by  about  a  quarter  of  an  inch,  and  my  note-books 
stopped  another  one  from  going  into  my  chest. 


i68     FIELD  ARTILLERY  LIEUTENANT 

I  am  en  passage  at  No.  8  General  Hospital  at  Rouen, 
and  shall  probably  be  sent  to  Blighty  today.  I  should 
be  quite  fit  again  in  a  fortnight,  I  should  think,  and 
then  I  shall  need  quite  another  fortnight  for  the  dentist 
—  two  lower  teeth  knocked  out  by  one  hit  in  the 
mouth.  I  was  lucky  in  being  right  in  the  thick  of  the 
big  push.  It  was  a  most  tremendous  experience,  much 
of  which  I  try  not  to  let  my  mind  dwell  on.  My  men 
did  well,  and  when  their  regular  task  was  finished, 
volunteered  to  help  bring  in  the  wounded. 

I  shall  have  at  all  events  a  much-needed  rest,  but 
strangely  enough,  I  kept  very  fit  to  the  last.  .  .  . 

July  13,  1916. 

...  I  was  lucky  enough  to  be  in  the  "  Big  Push  "  on 
the  Somme.  It  was  a  wonderful  experience,  but  one 
which  I  shouldn't  care  to  go  through  very  often;  and 
from  which  I  am  quite  content  to  rest  awhile  in  a 
comfortable  bed  with  a  few  "cushy"  wounds  (you  have 
read  the  Junior  Sub.,  so  you  know  what  that  means). 

Lord  and  Lady  Aberconway  have  turned  over  this 
big  house  as  an  officers'  ward.  They  continue  to  live 
here,  and  are  most  solicitous  of  their  guests'  comfort, 
and  every  evening  make  the  rounds  of  the  beds.  .  .  . 

I  shall  soon  be  up,  depending  somewhat  on  whether 
or  not  they  deem  it  necessary  to  operate  on  my  leg. 


CHARLES  D.  MORGAN,  '06  169 

I  am  full  of  small  splinters,  most  of  which  work  out 
of  their  own  accord.  Every  morning  now  I  can  pluck 
a  "  fragment  from  France  "  from  an  arm  or  a  leg. 
I  got  one  through  the  lip,  which  knocked  out  a  couple 
of  teeth,  but  fortunately  left  my  tongue  whole,  to  wag 
on  as  heartily  as  ever. 

The  invalids'  regime  here  would  turn  our  American 
dietitians  quite  green  with  dyspeptic  horror.  We  have 
an  enormous  English  breakfast:  porridge,  fish,  bacon, 
and  mushrooms — or  some  such  horror;  coffee,  and  rolls 
and  jam.  Lunch!  A  hearty  English  lunch  of  very 
high  specific  gravity,  and  aggravated  at  the  end  by 
quantities  of  sweets,  and  fruits,  and  cheeses.  A  five- 
course  dinner  —  wine  with  all  meals.  But  although 
rigorously  English  in  design,  the  cooking  is  so  super- 
excellent  that  I  suspect  the  chef  of  having  a  little  Latin 
blood  in  his  veins.  .  .  . 

It  took  me  five  days  to  get  here,  including  twenty- 
four  hours  in  the  Casualty  Clearing  Station,  where  I 
was  shoved  into  a  lonely  tent  on  a  stretcher  and  for- 
gotten —  my  only  companion  a  poor  Tommy,  hit  in 
the  throat,  who  was  raving  continuously.  Fortunately, 
I  had  brought  my  servant,  and  he  purloined  cups  of 
tea  and  crusts  of  bread;  and  finally  brought  my  case 
to  the  notice  of  the  C.  0.  Although  the  tent  was  full 
of  nice  white  beds,  all  empty,  I  was  kept  on  the 


170     FIELD  ARTILLERY  LIEUTENANT 

beastly  stretcher  on  the  purely  academic  theory  that  I 
was  taking  the  next  train.  Finally,  after  three  trains 
had  gone  without  me,  they  compromised  so  far  as  to 
lift  the  stretcher  on  top  of  the  bed.  However,  one  must 
make  every  allowance  in  a  time  of  great  stress  like  this 
when  there  are  thousands  of  wounded  pouring  in  every 

day.  .  .  . 

July  14, 1916. 

...  I  shall  never  regret  going  into  this  show.  The 
inspiration  of  the  men  under  one  is  enough  in  itself  to 
make  it  worth  while.  They  are  really  splendid  —  far 
ahead  of  their  ofhcers,  I  fear,  in  relative  efficiency.  And 
so  far  as  it  is  possible  in  this  selfish  world,  we  all  feel 
we  are  fighting  more  or  less  for  an  ideal.  It  stirs 
inarticulately  even  in  the  breast  of  the  Tommy,  I 
think.    .  .  . 


THE  MILITARY  HOSPITAL  UNITS 

THE  work  of  the  successive  Hospital  Units 
despatched  from  the  Harvard  Medical  School 
for  service  at  a  British  mihtary  hospital  in  France 
has  been  touched  upon  in  the  Preface.  The  names 
of  the  men  who  have  served  in  the  so-called  First, 
Second,  and  Third  Units  will  be  found  in  the  Kst  at 
the  end  of  this  volume;  the  general  nature  of  the 
work  they  have  done  is  described  in  an  article  writ- 
ten for  the  Harvard  Alumni  Bulletin  by  Dr.  David 
Cheever,  '97  (m.d,  '01),  Chief  Surgeon  of  the  Sec- 
ond Contingent  of  this  service.  It  may  be  taken 
as  fairly  representative  of  the  work  of  all  the  Units. 
The  special  service  of  the  Dental  men  has  won  a 
peculiar  distinction  for  Harvard.  Its  character  is 
clearly  suggested  in  an  article  contributed  by  Frank 
H.  Cushman,  d.m.d.  '15,  to  the  Bulletin,  A  brief 
passage  from  a  letter  to  the  Bulletin  by  Dr.  William 
Reid  Morrison,  '10,  on  ^'  Baseball  and  Surgery  in 
France,''  presents  a  pleasant  bit  of  relief  in  the 
record  of  exacting  labors. 

171 


172    THE  MILITARY  HOSPITAL  UNITS 

THE  HARVARD  UNIT  IN  FRANCE  i 

By  David  Cheever,  '97,  M.D.  '01  {Chief  Surgeon,  Second 
Contingent) 

The  second  contingent  of  the  Harvard  Surgical  Unit 
has  now  been  for  three  months  in  the  field  in  the  ser- 
vice of  the  British  War  Ofl&ce,  and  the  few  of  its  mem- 
bers who  were  able  to  give  only  three  months'  service 
having  just  returned,  it  is  possible  to  give  the  readers 
of  the  Bulletin  a  little  idea  of  how  the  enterprise  has 
fared. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  the  original  Unit  under 
the  leadership  of  Dr.  Edward  H.  Nichols,  '86,  who  was 
later  succeeded  by  Dr.  W.  E.  Faulkner  '87,  conducted 
a  British  Base  Hospital  in  France  for  the  three  months 
of  July,  August,  and  September  of  last  year.  It  had 
been  the  plan  to  have  the  work  carried  on  from  that 
time  by  Units  from  other  medical  centres,  but  owing 
to  certain  unforeseen  circumstances  and  an  unavoid- 
able change  in  the  conditions  of  service,  this  succession 
had  to  be  abandoned.  It  became  a  matter  of  giving  up 
the  project  entirely,  or  of  its  continuation  by  Harvard 
alone.  It  was  decided  to  adopt  the  latter  course,  and 
after  some  correspondence  with  the  British  War 
Office  as  to  the  conditions  governing  the  advent  of  a 
^  From  Harvard  Alumni  Bulletin,  April  5,  1916. 


DAVID  CHEEVER,  '97  173 

new  Unit,  the  enlisting  of  another  group  of  men,  and 
their  leadership,  were  committed  to  the  writer. 

A  group  of  thirty  men,  about  one-half  holders  of 
degrees  from  Harvard  and  the  others  volunteers  from 
other  medical  schools,  were  enHsted,  and  also  thirty- 
six  nurses,  to  take  the  place  of  an  equal  number  of  the 
first  contingent,  who  wished  to  terminate  their  stay 
abroad.  These  men  included  specialists  in  surgery, 
medicine,  and  X-ray  work,  dentists,  an  opthalmolo- 
gist,  an  aurist,  an  orthopedist,  and  a  bacteriologist. 
The  party  sailed  on  the  Steamship  '^  Noordam  "  on 
November  17th,  and  reached  England  without  mishap 
on  November  27th. 

The  Unit  was  organized  exactly  like  a  Base  Hospital 
in  the  British  regular  service,  that  is,  the  chief  surgeon 
ranked  as  a  Keu tenant-colonel,  and  the  other  men 
received  ranks  as  majors,  captains,  and  lieutenants, 
according  to  the  duties  which  they  were  to  perform. 
A  regular  commission  was  not  given,  because,  natu- 
rally, the  men  did  not  give  up  their  American  citizen- 
ship, which  would  have  been  necessary  in  order  to 
receive  commission  under  the  Crown;  but  relative 
rank  was  given  in  accordance  with  the  plan  pursued  in 
such  cases  by  the  War  Office. 

A  stay  of  ten  days  was  made  in  London,  in  order  to 
enable  the  men  to  procure  their  uniforms,  which  in 


174    THE  MILITARY  HOSPITAL  UNITS 

every  respect  corresponded  to  the  British  regular 
officer's  uniform,  except  in  the  absence  of  certain 
insignia  indicating  a  commission  under  the  Crown. 

Advantage  was  taken  of  this  time  to  visit  the  Lon- 
don hospitals,  other  places  of  civil  and  military  inter- 
est; and  one  day  was  devoted  to  a  visit  to  Oxford 
where  Sir  William  Osier,  in  the  uniform  of  a  colonel  of 
His  Majesty's  Forces,  devoted  the  entire  day  to  guid- 
ing the  visitors  about  Oxford,  entertaining  them  at 
Christ  Church,  and  later  at  tea  with  Mrs.  Osier. 
The  characteristic  ending  of  the  day  was  a  most 
enjoyable  and  informal  talk  by  Sir  William  on  the 
most  notable  books  marking  epochs  in  the  history  of 
medicine,  copies  of  all  of  which  were  found  in  his 
library.  Later,  also,  the  Unit  was  most  hospitably 
entertained  at  luncheon  by  the  Harvard  Club  of 
London,  presided  over  by  J.  H.  Seaverns,  '8i. 

The  Unit  crossed  the  Channel  on  December  9  to 
find  that  the  exigencies  of  the  mihtary  situation  had 
made  it  necessary  to  move  the  22nd  General  Hospital 
from  its  summer  quarters  to  winter  quarters  in  two 
large  empty  hotels,  not  far  distant  from  Boulogne. 
This  change  involved  the  reduction  in  the  number  of 
beds  available,  and  as  the  Unit  was  therefore  some- 
what over-manned,  certain  of  the  officers,  at  the 
request  of  the  War  Department,  were  detailed  for  ser- 


DAVID  CHEEVER,  '97  175 

vice  in  other  hospitals.  Officers  thus  detached  found 
great  pleasure  and  profit  in  the  intimate  association 
with  the  work  of  the  purely  British  Units,  and  there 
was  no  complaint  because  they  had  been  separated 
from  the  Harvard  Unit. 

A  few  days  of  organization  and  preparation  were 
necessary  in  the  new  quarters,  and  the  first  convoy  of 
sick  and  wounded  from  the  front  was  received  on 
December  15,  and  from  that  date  forward  new  con- 
voys were  received,  at  irregular  intervals,  but  usually 
as  frequently  as  three  times  a  week,  until  a  total  of 
some  one  thousand  four  hundred  patients  had  passed 
through  the  hospital  during  the  first  three  months. 
Throughout  this  period,  as  the  readers  of  the  Bulletin 
know,  there  was  comparative  quiet  on  the  Western 
Front,  that  is,  there  were  no  actions  of  any  magnitude, 
and  for  that  reason,  the  resources  of  the  hospital  were 
never  strained.  It  was  noticeable,  however,  that  the 
authorities  always  gave  the  hospital  fully,  if  not  more 
than,  its  share  of  the  wounded,  and  thus  kept  it  busily 
occupied. 

It  would  be  out  of  place  here  to  discuss  the  profes- 
sional aspects  of  the  work.  As  would  naturally  be 
expected  in  the  winter  season,  probably  one-half  the 
cases  were  sick  rather  than  wounded,  these  cases  con- 
sisting chiefly  of  bronchitis,  pneumonia,  rheumatism, 


176    THE  MILITARY  HOSPITAL  UNITS 

digestive  disturbances,  febrile  diseases,  usually  of  the 
para-typhoid  type,  and  various  complaints  associated 
with  the  peculiar  conditions  of  life  in  the  trenches, 
and  rightly  or  wrongly  attributed  to  them;  designated 
somewhat  vaguely  as  '^  trench  feet,"  "  trench  fever," 
"  trench  nephritis,"  and  the  like.  The  wounds  were 
almost  entirely  due  to  high  explosive  shell  fire,  ma- 
chine-gun and  rifle  fire,  and  bombs,  the  proportion  of 
injuries  by  shrapnel  being  comparatively  low,  owing 
to  the  fact  that  there  is  a  great  preponderance  in  the 
use  of  high  explosive  shells  over  shrapnel.  There  were 
practically  no  bayonet  or  other  wounds  sustained  in 
personal  encounters,  owing  to  the  fact,  as  stated  above, 
that  no  great  action  took  place. 

One  of  the  interesting  but  sad  experiences  was  the 
arrival  in  one  of  the  earlier  convoys  of  a  large  number 
of  "  gassed  "  patients,  that  is,  soldiers  suffering  from 
an  attack  by  asphyxiating  gases  launched  by  the  Ger- 
mans in  the  neighborhood  of  Ypres.  Naturally,  with 
them  as  with  the  wounded,  the  most  serious  cases  died 
either  in  the  field  hospitals  or  at  Casualty  Clearing 
Stations  before  it  was  possible  to  transport  them  to  a 
Base.  Consequently,  cases  arriving  at  the  2  2nd  Hospi- 
tal were  of  a  comparatively  less  severe  type.  They 
presented  a  distressing  picture  of  acute  bronchitis,  with 
incessant  cough,  difficulty  of  breathing,  and  lividity. 


DAVID  CHEEVER,  '97  177 

Five  of  these  cases  died  at  the  hospital  in  spite  of 
everything  that  could  be  done  to  save  them,  and  the 
remainder  made  slow  recoveries,  although,  even  after 
they  were  ready  for  discharge  to  England,  they  were 
far  from  completely  recovered.  With  the  exception  of 
a  few  similar  cases,  arriving  at  a  much  later  date,  this 
was  the  only  group  of  "  gassed  "  men  with  whom  the 
Unit  had  to  deal.  And,  owing  to  the  efhciency  of  the 
anti-tetanic  and  anti-typhoid  inoculations,  no  cases  of 
tetanus,  and  no  undoubted  cases  of  typhoid  fever  came 
under  the  observation  of  the  Unit.  A  good  many  cases 
of  para-typhoid,  closely  allied  to  true  typhoid,  were 
found,  and  had  to  be  transferred  to  a  special  hospital 
for  contagious  diseases.  There  was  no  death  from 
an  anaesthetic,  and  the  total  mortality  of  the  cases 
under  the  charge  of  the  Harvard  Contingent  was 
considerably  less  than  one  per  cent. 

From  the  purely  professional  side,  it  may  be  said 
that  the  medical  officers  gained  much  experience  in  the 
best  and  most  expeditious  and  practical  methods  of 
handling  the  wounds  common  to  modern  types  of 
warfare,  and  especially  the  complications  caused  by 
severe  infections,  and  by  extensive  injuries  to  bone. 
They  also  gained  much  insight  into  the  practical 
details  of  the  organization  and  administration  of  a 
hospital  of  this  type.    The  dental  surgeons  found  a 


178    THE  MILITARY  HOSPITAL  UNITS 

large  field  of  usefulness  in  caring  for  the  badly  neg- 
lected teeth  of  the  average  enlisted  man,  and  those 
who  were  so  fortunate  as  to  be  detailed  to  work  with 
Dr.  Kazanjian  of  the  Harvard  Dental  School,  at  his 
clinic  attached  to  a  neighboring  hospital,  were  able  to 
bring  him  material  aid  in  the  splendid  work  which  he 
and  his  assistants  are  doing  in  the  repair  of  destructive 
injuries  of  the  jaws. 

On  the  human  side,  it  is  certain  that  every  member 
of  the  Unit  had  an  experience  which  he  will  remember 
for  the  rest  of  his  life.  Although  he  was  but  on  the 
fringe  of  the  great  conflict  and  not  even  within  sound 
of  its  guns,  the  reaHties  of  the  war  were  brought  home 
very  strongly. 

One  of  the  most  satisfying  and  pleasant  features  of 
the  experience  was  the  sincere  appreciation  which  was 
manifested  in  every  way  by  the  British  officers, 
whether  EngHsh,  Canadian,  or  Australian,  with  whom 
the  members  of  the  Unit  came  in  contact.  The  Briton 
is  not  given  to  complaining  and  asking  for  help,  but 
when  help  is  proffered  by  citizens  of  a  friendly  nation, 
no  one  could  be  more  frank  and  expressive  than  the 
Briton  in  showing  his  appreciation  of  it.  Let  it  not  be 
thought  that  the  Harvard  Unit  served  in  other  than  a 
neutral  capacity,  bringing  aid  to  the  wounded  and 
suffering  irrespective,  of  nationality,  as  opportunities 


DAVID  CHEEVER,  '97  179 

came  their  way.  It  was  natural,  however,  that  racial 
affiliations  and  personal  feelings  of  most  of  the  members 
caused  them  to  feel  and  express  the  warmest  S3niipathy 
with  the  British  cause  and  the  soldiers  fighting  for  it, 
and  they  were  made  to  feel,  at  every  opportunity,  the 
gratitude  and  appreciation  of  those  they  were  aiding. 

On  the  departure  of  the  Unit  from  the  winter  quar- 
ters, above  described,  to  summer  quarters  elsewhere, 
the  medical  consultants  of  the  Boulogne  Base,  Colonel 
Sir  Almoth  Wright,  Colonel  Sir  Bertrand  Dawson, 
Colonel  Lister,  and  Colonel  Fullerton,  together  with 
all  the  principal  officers  of  the  Base  as  guests,  gave 
them  a  compHmentary  dinner,  at  which  sentiments 
were  expressed  which  made  the  members  of  the  Unit 
feel  that  their  services  were  given  a  higher  value  than 
they  deserved  professionally,  and  that  their  motives 
in  bringing  aid  were  well  understood  and  thoroughly 
appreciated.  It  was  perhaps  the  most  satisfying  aspect 
of  the  experience  of  the  Unit  that  they  could  justly 
feel  that  they  constituted  a  small  but  effective  centre, 
diffusing  the  true  feeHng  of  sympathy  and  understand- 
ing which  exists  between  most  Americans  and  most 
Englishmen.  This  could  not  be  better  exemplified 
than  by  the  cordial  relations  existing  between  the 
members  of  the  Unit  and  the  Administrator  of  the 
Unit,  Colonel  Sir  Allan  Perry. 


i8o    THE  MILITARY  HOSPITAL  UNITS 

The  Unit,  as  stated  above,  is  now  under  canvas  and 
occupies  nearly  the  same  location  that  it  did  last  sum- 
mer, and  the  writer  has  been  succeeded  as  Chief  Sur- 
geon for  the  three  months  ending  June  9  by  Dr.  W.  E. 
Faulkner,  '87,  who  most  unselfishly  volunteered  to 
return,  in  spite  of  the  many  personal  considerations 
which  must  have  impelled  him  to  remain  at  home. 

The  British  War  Office  informed  the  writer  that  the 
work  of  the  Unit  is  a  real  help,  that  its  services  are 
needed  and  that  the  authorities  hope  that  these  ser- 
vices can  be  continued  indefinitely.  It  is  planned, 
therefore,  to  despatch  a  new  contingent^  to  begin 
service  June  9,  succeeding  the  present  one,  whose  term 
will  then  expire. 

HARVARD  DENTAL  SCHOOL  GRADUATES  IN 
FRANCE  2 

By  Frank  H.  Cushman,  D.M.D.  '15 

When  in  June  191 5,  the  First  Harvard  Surgical  Unit, 
for  work  in  the  war  zone,  was  being  organized,  the  part 
that  dental  surgeons  might  play  in  the  work  of  war 
hospitals  was  just  beginning  to  be  realized.    Extensive 

'^  This  contingent  was  duly  despatched,  with  Dr.  Hugh  Cabot,  '94, 
as  chief  surgeon.  In  September  the  next  contingent,  with  Dr.  Daniel 
F.  Jones,  '92,  as  chief  surgeon  took  up  the  work. 

2  From  Harvard  Alumni  Bulletin,  May  17,  1916. 


FRANK  H.  CUSHMAN,  D.M.D.,  '15     181 

work  in  the  treatment  of  mutilated  mouths,  and  in  the 
preparation  of  the  soldiers'  mouths  for  the  unfavorable 
conditions  of  Hfe  at  the  front,  had  already  been  under 
way  for  some  time  in  the  German  army.  Among  the 
French,  too,  it  had  been  recognized,  and,  in  addition  to 
the  French  dental  surgeons,  several  American  dentists, 
among  them.  Dr.  Stuhl,  D.M.D.  '05,  and  Dr.  Potter,  of 
our  own  administrative  board,  had  been  doing  admir- 
able work  at  the  American  Ambulance  at  Neuilly. 

Just  what  might  be  the  conditions  in  the  British 
army,  with  which  the  Unit  was  to  work,  was  not  at  the 
time  known  here,  but  arrangements  were  made  for 
taking  three  Harvard  Dental  men,  with  all  necessary 
equipment,  since  modern  trench  warfare  had  been  pro- 
ductive of  so  many  head-wounds,  which,  if  not  fatal, 
generally  involved  the  jaws. 

No  account  of  this  work  can  be  given  without  special 
mention  of  Dr.  Kazanjian,  Senior  Demonstrator  of 
Prosthetics  at  the  Harvard  Dental  School,  and  in 
charge  of  all  fracture  cases  there.  Surely  no  better 
selection  could  have  been  made  for  the  position  as 
leader  and  organizer  of  the  work  than  he.  Dr.  Ferdi- 
nand Brigham  and  I  were  fortunate  enough  to  be 
detailed  as  his  assistants. 

Upon  the  arrival  of  the  Unit  in  France,  dental  con- 
ditions were  found  to  be  much  worse  than  expected. 


1 82    THE  MILITARY  HOSPITAL  UNITS 

Whereas  it  was  reported  that  with  the  original  Ger- 
man army  invading  Belgium  as  far  back  as  August, 
1914,  there  were  five  hundred  dentists,  there  were 
among  all  the  British  troops  in  June  of  last  year,  but 
fifteen!  Even  allowing  that  these  reports  were  some- 
what exaggerated,  the  scarcity  of  men,  combined  with 
the  terrible  condition  of  the  mouths  of  the  ^'  Tom- 
mies," was  nothing  short  of  appalling.  Preparations 
for  the  furnishing  of  dental  supplies  were  also  very 
incomplete,  and  this,  combined  with  the  lack  of  facili- 
ties such  as  electricity,  gas,  and  water,  made  the  work 
even  more  difficult. 

Work  was  begun,  however,  with  such  facilities  as 
were  at  hand  or  could  be  devised.  Until  it  became 
known  throughout  the  district  that  fractures  of  the 
jaws  were  being  treated  by  the  Harvard  Unit,  much  of 
the  work  was  concerned  with  the  extraction  of  teeth 
and  the  making  of  artificial  dentures.  The  original  bad 
condition  of  the  men's  mouths,  combined  with  the  lack 
of  opportunity  at  the  front  for  proper  cleansing  and 
the  unhealthful  water  which  the  troops  are  obliged  to 
drink,  made  it  necessary,  during  the  summer,  to  send 
increasing  numbers  back  to  the  base  for  dental  treat- 
ment alone.  The  use  of  novocaine  in  all  cases  of  extrac- 
tion is  new  to  army  methods  and  to  the  men,  and  does 
much  to  expedite  and  facilitate  the  work.     Septic 


FRANK  H.  CUSHMAN,  D.M.D.,  '15     183 

roots  in  the  mouth  were  early  recognized  by  the  medi- 
cal men  as  a  causative  or  contributing  factor  in  many 
cases  of  arthritis,  gastritis,  and  ear  and  nose  affections, 
and  the  cleaning  up  of  mouths  came  to  be  regarded  in 
the  hospital  as  part  of  the  routine  treatment.  Appal- 
ling as  it  seems  in  the  light  of  dental  education  in 
America,  a  British  army  order  provides  that  no  man 
with  two  teeth,  one  on  either  jaw,  which  occlude,  shall 
be  furnished  by  the  government  with  dentures.  This 
means,  of  course,  that  only  those  in  most  desperate 
need  of  artificial  teeth  are  provided  with  them,  but 
even  with  this  limitation,  two  laboratory  men  are 
kept  constantly  busy  on  this  sort  of  work. 

The  most  important  phase  of  the  work  of  the  dental 
men  in  the  Unit  was,  of  course,  the  treatment  of  the 
cases  of  fracture  of  the  jaw,  and  before  the  work  was 
long  under  way,  many  cases  of  this  sort  were  being 
brought  in  from  the  front,  and  from  other  hospitals. 
The  injuries  are  often  very  extensive,  involving,  in 
addition  to  the  jaws,  other  parts  of  the  face  and 
cranium.  External  wounds  necessitate  an  entire 
change  of  procedure  from  the  methods  used  in  jaw 
fractures  in  civil  hospitals.  Owing  to  the  drainage  of 
saliva  through  these  wounds,  the  sepsis  is  wide-spread 
and  persistent.  Too  much  credit  cannot  be  given  to 
Dr.  Kazanjian  for  the  masterly  way  in  which  these 


1 84    THE  MILITARY  HOSPITAL  UNITS 

cases  are  being  handled.  Each  new  case  requires  the 
devising  of  especial  appliances  to  fit  its  particular 
needs;  but  this  Harvard  man  is  always  found  equal  to 
every  occasion.  The  hearty  co-operation  received 
from  surgeons  and  medical  men  is  proving  most  helpful 
in  the  successful  carrying  on  of  the  work. 

That  the  value  of  the  work  is  not  going  unrecognized 
is  proved  by  the  mention  of  Dr.  Kazanjian  in  the  des- 
patches of  January  i  for  distinguished  service.  At  the 
beginning  of  October,  when  the  Unit  was  disbanded,  it 
was  urged  from  the  War  Office  that  the  work  be  not 
discontinued,  and  that  Dr.  Kazanjian  and  his  two 
assistants  remain,  with  the  promise  of  the  increased 
facilities  of  a  building  equipped  especially  for  jaw  sur- 
gery. Permission  was  also  granted  to  keep  the  patients 
longer  than  the  three  weeks  allowed  other  cases. 

The  consideration  given  the  patients  themselves  does 
much  to  popularize  the  work  among  them.  Of  all  the 
fracture  cases  treated  during  the  summer  and  winter, 
only  one  man  expressed  a  desire  to  be  sent  to  England 
before  the  completion  of  his  work,  and  a  letter  was  re- 
ceived from  him  shortly  after  his  return  home,  asking 
that  steps  be  taken  to  secure  his  transfer  back  again. 

The  cheerfulness  and  courage  of  the  men  themselves 
should  not  go  unrecognized.  Such  pluck  as  that  of  a 
nineteen-year-old  Irish  boy  with  eye  and  nose  gone, 


FRANK  H.  CUSHMAN,  D.M.D.,  '15     185 

both  jaws  broken  and  two  bullets  through  one  arm,  who 
always  felt, "  In  the  pink,  thank  you,  sir ! "  or  the  Scotch 
lad  with  both  jaws  fractured,  and  a  bullet  through  his 
chest  with  a  consequent  very  severe  pneumonia,  whose 
invariable  answer  to  inquiries  was,  "Champion,  thank 
you,  sir!  ",  did  much  to  make  the  work  easier. 

When  it  became  known  in  September  that  the  Unit 
was  returning  to  America  the  following  month,  the 
parents  of  one  of  the  patients  even  tried  to  arrange  for 
the  discharge  of  their  son  from  the  army,  so  that  he 
might  return  to  Boston  to  continue  his  treatment  with 
Dr.  Kazanjian. 

The  arrival  of  the  second  Harvard  Unit  added  three 
more  Harvard  Dental  men  to  the  work:  Drs.  R.  S. 
Catheron,  C.  F.  MacDonald,  and  J.  F.  Dillon.  Drs. 
Dillon  and  MacDonald  are  with  the  Harvard  Unit, 
while  the  other  three  men  are  occupying  the  splen- 
didly-equipped building  in  the  English  Hospital  to 
which,  on  account  of  the  increased  facilities,  the  jaw 
work  was  transferred  in  December  when  the  Harvard 
Unit  was  moved  into  cramped  winter  quarters.  The 
equipment  of  the  building  is  all  that  could  be  desired, 
electricity,  running  hot  and  cold  water,  and  all  the 
facilities  procurable  for  carrying  on  the  work  in  any 
temporary  hospital.  The  dental  staff  comprises, 
besides  the  three  Harvard  men,  two  mechanics,  two 


1 86    THE  MILITARY  HOSPITAL  UNITS 

operating-room  nurses,  and  nurses  and  orderlies  for 
the  two  wards  of  about  forty  beds. 

Altogether,  between  July  20  and  December  i,  over 
one  thousand  two  hundred  cases  of  all  kinds  received 
treatment,  varying  from  a  single  visit  to  work  covering 
daily  attendance  for  several  months.  Careful  records, 
including  charts,  pictures,  plaster  models  and  casts  of 
the  teeth  and  faces  are  being  kept,  and  will  be  added  to 
the  Dental  Museum  of  Harvard.  The  work  is  draw- 
ing extensive  interest  from  men  in  the  medical  service, 
many  visitors  coming  to  the  hospital,  and  Dr.  Kazan- 
jian  is  called  on  for  numerous  clinics  before  the  field 
medical  societies.  The  work  is  pursued  in  the  name  of 
the  "  Dental  Unit  of  Harvard  University,"  and  the 
coming  summer  should  see  its  extent  and  scope  much 
broadened. 

Such  results  as  these  could  not  have  been  attained 
but  for  the  energy  and  devotion  of  Dr.  Kazanjian  and 
the  hearty  cooperation  of  medical  men  and  those  in 
higher  authority  in  the  medical  service.  There  is 
much  need  for  this  sort  of  work,  and  the  supply  of 
men  who  can  do  it  is  limited.  It  is  therefore  to  be 
hoped  that,  although  the  school  is  losing  the  active 
help  of  Dr.  Kazanjian,  he  can  be  kept  where  he  is, 
doing  perhaps  a  higher  service  and  bringing  to  the 
school  much  credit. 


W.  R.  MORRISON,  'lo  187 

SURGERY  AND  BASEBALL  IN  FRANCE  ^ 

By  William  Reid  Morrison,  '10 

2  2D  General  Hospital, 

British  Expeditionary  Force,  France, 

May  28,  1916 

.  .  .  During  March  and  April,  much  snow  and  rainy 
weather  were  encountered,  but  we  managed  to  keep 
reasonably  warm  in  our  tents.  This  month,  the 
weather  has  been  excellent,  allowing  our  baseball  team 
to  round  into  shape. 

We  are  very  proud  of  our  Harvard  Unit  players, 
organized  among  the  medical  officers  in  this  hospital. 
The  opening  game  of  the  season  was  played  last  week, 
with  a  team  from  Canadian  Number  One  Hospital, 
and  it  attracted  a  large  crowd  of  medical  officers, 
sisters,  and  patients  from  surrounding  hospitals. 

Many  of  the  spectators  had  never  seen  a  baseball 
game,  and  it  was  indeed  a  novel  experience  for  them. 

The  Harvard  nine  started  off  with  a  rush,  scoring  8 
runs  in  the  first  inning,  and  knocking  the  Canadian 
pitcher  out  of  the  box.  We  won  handily  by  a  final 
score  of  16  to  8. 

A  return  game  was  played  on  the  Canadian  field  a 
few  days  ago,  and  we  were  vanquished  by  a  score  of  8 
^  From  Harvard  Alumni  Bulletin,  June  21,  1916. 


i88    THE  MILITARY  HOSPITAL  UNITS 

to  5.  In  this  game,  our  surgeon-in-chief,  Dr.  Faulkner, 
put  aside  his  lieutenant-colonel's  uniform,  and  proved 
to  be  a  heavy  hitter,  and  good  base  runner,  as  well  as 
an  able  second  baseman,  and  much  credit  is  due  him 
for  the  team's  good  performance.  We  play  a  third 
game  next  week,  and  hope  to  win  again.  .  .  . 

The  surgeons  and  medical  men  have  had  a  valuable 
service,  with  many  interesting  experiences,  and  we,  as 
well  as  the  nursing  sisters,  have  been  very  glad  to  do 
what  we  could  for  the  sick  and  wounded. 


THE  DAY'S  WORK  IN  AN  AMBULANCE 
CORPS 

AGAIN  it  is  time  to  remind  ourselves  that  there 
is  another  American  Ambulance  Corps  besides 
that  of  the  American  Ambulance  Hospital  in  Paris, 
namely  the  American  Volunteer  Motor- Ambulance 
Corps,  formed  and  directed  by  Richard  Norton, 
'92.  Passages  from  two  of  his  letters  have  already 
been  given.  Two  others  must  now  be  brought  for- 
ward, the  first  to  Mr.  H.  D.  Morrison,  the  Honor- 
able Secretary  and  Treasurer  of  the  Corps  in  Lon- 
don —  a  letter  in  which  the  general  character  of  the 
service  is  memorably  described  —  the  second  to 
Mr.  Norton's  brother,  EHot  Norton,  '85,  describing 
a  day  at  Verdun  no  more  remote  than  mid- June  of 

1916. 

France,  February  15,  1916. 

Dear  Morrison:  The  letters  which  have  been 
received  from  American  applicants  to  join  our  Corps 
since  the  British  Red  Cross  refused  to  allow  English- 
men of  military  age  and  qualification  to  work  with  us 
have  been  very  numerous,  and  I  have  found  them,  as 

z8g 


igo  THE  DAY'S  WORK 

a  mass,  so  interesting  that  I  have  sent  most  of  them  to 
the  office  to  be  filed.  It  is  evident,  however,  that  there 
are  many  misconceptions  in  the  minds  of  our  com- 
patriots regarding  our  work,  and  it  is  in  the  hope  that 
you  may  be  able  to  clear  up  some  of  these  that  I  now 
write  you. 

...  It  is  not  surprising  that  we  receive  letters  from 
quantities  of  persons  who  are  firmly  convinced  that 
their  mere  desire  to  help  in  our  work  is  all  that  is 
needed  to  make  them  of  use  to  us.  Of  course,  and  this 
is  natural  enough — in  fact,  could  hardly  be  otherwise 
—  their  ideas  of  the  work  of  an  ambulance  corps  are 
based  on  accounts  of  battles,  as  this  is  about  all  the 
newspapers  put  before  them.  The  fact  is,  however, 
that  what  nowadays  are  considered  battles  occur  only 
at  long  intervals,  and  most  of  the  time  the  ambulances 
are  performing  an  essential,  but  by  no  means  thrilling, 
service  among  the  field  hospitals  and  along  the  line 
where,  although  the  fighting  never  ceases,  things  are 
generally  comparatively  tranquil.  Especially  is  this 
so  in  the  winter  months,  during  which  both  last  year 
and  this  there  has  been  no  attempt  at  a  great  offensive, 
by  either  side,  on  the  Western  front.  It  isn't  that  the 
armies  couldn't  fight  if  they  wanted  to;  the  Russians 
show  us  well  enough  that  they  could.  But  for  one 
reason  and  another,  probably  because  the  English 


RICHARD  NORTON,  ^92  191 

have  not  been  ready,  they  don't.  So  our  work  goes 
along  quietly  for  the  most  part,  and  there  is  many  a 
day  when  the  men  don't  have  enough  to  do  to  keep 
them  from  thinking  of  their  discomforts.  These  are 
really  nothing  very  bad,  but  still  a  volunteer  from 
another  land,  one  who  is  not  fighting  for  his  own 
people,  has  to  have  a  strong  sense  of  the  ultimate  value 
of  the  work  he  has  chosen  to  do  to  enable  him  to  forget 
them.  That,  I  find,  is  the  most  serious  trouble  with 
any  of  the  men  who  have  been  with  me.  When,  as 
last  September,  there  is  heavy  fighting,  they  are  as 
keen  as  possible  and  take  all  the  various  risks  and 
troubles  in  the  most  pleasant  spirit.  But  when,  as 
sometimes  happens,  the  Corps  is  en  repos  they  get 
restless  and  don't  know  what  to  do  with  themselves. 
For  this  reason,  among  others,  I  don't  want  you  to 
send  out  volunteers  who  are  too  young.  It  is  not  that 
they  lack  courage,  but  that  is  a  quaHty  we  are  not 
often  called  upon  to  show.  What  this  work  chiefly 
demands  is  resource.  Our  men  are  not  like  the  soldiers 
constantly  under  the  eye  of  an  officer,  but  are  generally 
dependent  on  their  own  intelligence  for  the  conduct  of 
their  work.  Such  driving  as  we  do  was  never  conceived 
of  by  motorists  before  this  war.  Borghesi's  ride  from 
Pekin  to  Paris  was  a  summer  day's  excursion  through  a 
park  compared  to  our  job.    Driving  a  car  laden  with 


192  THE  DAY'S  WORK 

men  whose  lives  depend  on  reaching  the  hospital  as 
soon  as  possible  is  a  considerable  responsibility.  When, 
in  addition,  they  have  to  be  carried  along  roads,  or 
more  Hkely  mere  trails,  that  are  being  shelled  or  maybe 
swept  with  rifle  fire,  often  at  night,  with  no  Hght,  and 
through  the  unending  crowd  of  moving  troops,  guns, 
ammunition  and  revictualling  trains,  the  responsibility 
is  considerably  increased.  A  man  must  keep  absolutely 
cool  and  his  temper  unruffled,  and  he  must  be  able  to 
size  things  up  so  as  to  do  the  best  he  can  for  his  load  of 
fading  lives.  Experience  of  life  is  what  is  needed  to  do 
this  successfully,  and  that  is  just  what  a  youth  has  not 
got.  Of  course,  there  are  the  rare  exceptions,  and  we 
are  lucky  in  having  some  of  these,  where  imagination 
and  instinct  take  the  place  of  experience.  But  you 
cannot  count  on  a  youth  having  these,  and  I  have  no 
time  to  test  them,  one  by  one,  to  see  if  they  will  take 
the  bit;  so  don't  send  me  boys  unless  you  are  dead 
certain  of  their  quality. 

There  are  really  three  sorts  of  work  we  have  to  do. 
One  is  the  risky  and  very  hard  work  during  a  battle, 
such  as  my  account  of  the  Battle  of  Champagne  gave 
you  some  idea  of.  The  men  who  can  do  that  success- 
fully will,  when  they  get  home  after  the  war,  be  able 
to  do  anything  from  running  a  railway  to  managing 
an  Art  Museum. 


RICHARD  NORTON,  '92  193 

Then  there  is  what  might  be  called  our  regular  job, 
the  post  duty,  the  daily  going  and  coming  from  certain 
stations  just  back  of  the  line  to  the  hospitals  with  the 
occasional  casualties.  During  the  winter  months  one 
carries  more  sick  and  sorry  than  one  does  wounded, 
but  there  is  a  never-ending  trickle  of  these  latter.  For 
the  last  few  months,  as  you  know,  we  have  been  work- 
ing along  the  Tahure  to  Mesnil  front.  There  has  been 
a  very  slight  ebb  and  flow  of  the  line,  but  on  the  whole 
it  is  a  little  more  advanced  than  it  was  when  the 
French  got  through  pounding  the  Germans  last  Sep- 
tember. They  certainly  did  give  it  to  them  then,  and 
it  is  an  open  secret  that  had  the  English  attack  been  so 
well  conducted  as  the  French,  the  line  would  be  further 
forward  than  it  is  now.  However,  when  it  was  over  we 
sat  down  for  the  winter,  and  posts  were  arranged  to 
which  the  wounded  are  brought.  Just  who  picks  out 
these  posts  I  have  never  discovered,  but  the  general 
rule  is  that  they  should  be  as  near  the  actual  fighting 
line  as  the  condition  of  the  roads  and  general  safety 
permit  the  cars  to  go.  We  have  served  two  such  posts. 
One  was  all  right,  though,  owing  to  the  mud  which 
prevented  the  close  approach  of  our  cars,  the  stretcher 
bearers  had  a  weary  long  walk  with  their  painful 
burden.  The  other,  however,  was  to  my  mind  most 
quaintly  placed,  as  it  was  on  the  crest  of  a  ridge  and  in 


194  THE  DAY'S  WORK 

plain  view  of  the  enemy.  Though  the  doctors'  tents 
and  dug  outs  were  sheltered  by  a  cluster  of  pines,  the 
coming  and  going  of  the  cars  were  perfectly  obvious 
and  daily  drew  the  fire  of  one  of  the  enemy  batteries. 
Some  of  the  gunners  were  excellent  shots,  too,  and 
although  they  never  scored  a  bull's-eye,  they  made 
several  "  ringers "  which  spattered  us  with  mud. 
Their  favorite  projectile  was  what  is  known  as  a 
"  whiz-bang,"  a  confounded  thing  that  goes  off  with  a 
peculiarly  disagreeable  crash  at  the  same  instant  that 
you  hear  it.  Now  a  respectably  educated  shell  whistles 
as  it  comes,  and  gives  you  time,  if  you  have  wisely 
adopted  the  habits  of  the  wood-chuck  and  don't  go  far 
from  your  hole,  to  make  an  Annette  Kellerman  dive. 
Maybe  the  tune  it  whistles  is  the  "  Last  Rose  of  Sum- 
mer," but  still  you  are  at  least  on  the  way  under- 
ground when  it  hits,  and,  such  is  the  strange  working 
of  our  minds,  that  gives  one  a  great  feeling  of  comfort. 
But  these  whiz-bangs  were  brought  up  on  KuUur  and 
come  in  without  knocking.  I  hate  them  —  in  fact,  I 
hate  them  all  —  I  have  collected  many  things  in  my 
life,  but  I  was  never  born  to  be  a  conchologist.  Some 
men  tell  me  they  get  used  to  such  things.  I  can  only 
say  I  feel  no  symptoms  of  acquiring  the  taste.  Well, 
so  long  as  the  doctors  could  stand  this  post  on  the  hill, 
we  had  to.   At  both  posts  the  men  did  duty  for  twenty- 


RICHARD  NORTON,  '92  195 

four  hours  at  a  stretch,  and  had  tents  pitched  under 
the  trees  in  which  they  cooked  their  picnic  meals  and 
took  what  rest  they  could.  Most  of  the  time  it  rained, 
and  it  was  always  cold.  To  my  way  of  thinking  a  tent 
is  a  beastly  thing.  A  considerable  portion  of  my  life 
has  been  passed  in  them,  and  no  one  can  convince  me 
they  are  anything  but  disgusting.  I  love  to  read  about 
them  in  the  summer  magazines,  when  the  wily  Redskin 
is  pursuing  the  heroic  trapper,  or  the  beauteous  mil- 
lionairess heroine  has  fled  from  the  seething  city  to 
soothe  a  broken  heart,  catching  trout  and  a  cold  in  the 
head  by  the  pellucid  lake  —  all  that  sounds  lovely,  but 
were  I  ever  to  play  Redskin  to  the  heroine  I'd  never  be 
so  mean  as  to  ask  her  to  pass  the  honeymoon  in  a  tent. 
They  are  cramped  in  space;  they  leak;  the  wind  loosens 
the  ropes  at  night;  they  flap,  they  are  damp  in  winter 
and  hot  in  summer;  they  are  harbor  lights  for  every- 
thing that  creeps  or  crawls  within  thirty  miles;  the  oil 
stove  explodes  in  them,  and  you  spoil  most  of  your 
bedding  putting  it  out;  and  when  anybody,  whether 
an  Arab  or  a  Boche  is  trying  to  straf  you,  they  are 
about  as  much  comfort  as  an  ice-cream  soda  to  a  polar 
bear.  However,  they  are  better  than  sitting  in  the 
mud,  so  at  the  posts  we  sit  and  get  damp  till  the  relief 
comes,  and  then  hustle  back  to  the  base  camp,  where 
there  are  no  satisfactory  means  of  getting  dry,  but 


196  THE  DAY'S  WORK 

where  you  mop  yourself  up  and  steam  over  any  form 
of  fire  you  or  your  friends  can  produce.  You  see, 
there  is  not  much  in  that  kind  of  life  but  plain,  hard, 
uncomfortable  work.  So  anyone  who  thinks  he  is 
coming  out  here  to  wander  over  the  stricken  field  doing 
the  Sir  Philip  Sidney  act  to  friend  and  foe  alike,  pro- 
tected from  harm  by  the  mystical  light  of  heroism 
playing  about  his  hyacinthine  locks,  had  better  stay 
home.  This  hero  business  will  only  win  him  the  Order 
of  the  Wooden  Cross.  What  one  really  does  is  to  look 
like  a  tramp  who  has  passed  the  night  in  a  ditch  and 
feels  as  though  he  were  doing  ten  days  '^  hard  "  for  it. 
That  is  what  the  ordinary  work  is. 

Then  there  is  the  third  kind,  which  is  when  we  are, 
as  now,  en  repos.  No  corps  can  go  on  indefinitely  at 
the  front.  The  men  get  worn  out  and  the  cars  get  out 
of  order.  During  the  early  part  of  this  winter  our  cars 
stood  in  the  open  where  the  mud  was  so  bad  that  we 
often  had  to  pull  them  out  in  the  morning  with  the 
lorry  before  we  could  start.  There  was  so  little  water 
that  sometimes  there  was  insufficient  for  the  radiators. 
Under  such  circumstances  cleaning  the  cars  was 
entirely  out  of  the  question,  and  any  but  absolutely 
essential  repairs  had  to  wait  till  we  could  move  some- 
where else.  When,  finally,  we  were  relieved  by  a 
French  convoy,  only  one-third   of   our   cars  could 


RICHARD  NORTON,  '92  197 

go,  and  several  of  the  men  were  working  on  their 
nerve. 

We  were  sent  a  few  miles  back  to  the  large  farm 
where  we  now  are.  Here  there  is  a  splendid  big  barn 
with  lean-to  sheds  round  about,  in  which  most  of  our 
cars  are  housed.  There  is  plenty  of  water,  as  there  is  a 
large  stream  just  beside  the  house,  and  the  cars  have 
been  washed,  springs  mended,  the  engines  cleaned,  and 
everything  possible  done  to  enable  us  to  work  many 
months  more  before  there  will  be  need  of  another  over- 
haul. For  this  sort  of  work  you  will  easily  understand 
that  we  must  have  men  who  know  something  about 
motors  and  who  are  ready  to  work  on  them  themselves. 
A  man  who  is  unwilling  or  unable  to  help  in  the  care  of 
his  car  would  be  nothing  but  a  nuisance  to  us.  For  a 
man  who  knows  how  to  work  there  is  always  plenty  to 
do,  but  the  life  of  so-called  repos  here  at  the  farm  is 
decidedly  monotonous.  We  never  see  outsiders,  and 
we  do  not  often  get  out  of  sight  of  the  farm  buildings. 
Chalons  is  not  many  miles  away,  but  we  only  send 
there  when  we  hear  that  one  of  our  cars  which  had  to 
be  repaired  at  the  army  shops  is  ready  for  us,  or  when 
there  is  something  to  buy  for  the  upkeep  of  the  cars,  or 
when  a  new  volunteer  comes  to  join  us.  Of  course,  the 
Government  will  give  us  anything  we  need  for  the 
upkeep  of  the  cars,  but  one  is  allowed  to  apply  only  on 


1 98  THE  DAY'S  WORK 

certain  given  days  of  each  month  for  certain  things, 
while  others  are  applied  for  on  other  days.  This  often 
means  a  delay  of  many  days  before  one  can  begin  to 
repair  the  car,  because  not  only  must  the  proper  day 
of  application  be  waited  for,  but  several  days  elapse 
between  the  application  and  the  arrival  of  the  material. 
Consequently  it  is  often  best  to  send  to  Chalons  and 
buy  what  is  needed.  We  would  send  there  oftener  could 
we  have  more  petrol,  but  while  en  repos  we  are  allowed 
only  twenty-five  litres  a  day!  As  we  have  twenty-five 
cars,  which  have  to  be  cleaned  and  tested  in  addition 
to  routine  work,  every  motorist  will  realise  that  we  are 
much  like  interned  prisoners.  If  this  lack  of  essence 
merely  meant  our  incapacity  to  get  the  mail  or  enjoy 
an  occasional  bath  no  one  would  mind,  but  its  chief 
effect  is  to  delay  our  work.  .  .  .  We  have  never  yet 
been  unable  to  do  whatever  work  was  asked  of  us,  but 
this  is  because  we  have  gone  ahead  on  our  own  plan 
and  bought  from  time  to  time  many  hundreds  of  litres 
of  essence  when  we  foresaw  that  we  would  be  held  up 
for  lack  of  it.  This  is  all  dull  to  write,  and  dull  for  you 
to  read,  but  perhaps  it  will  make  you  realise  that  it  is 
aggravating  for  the  men  to  have  to  live  through  it,  and 
you  will  understand  why  a  mere  general  readiness  to  do 
anything  is  not  the  only  or  the  most  important 
characteristic  that  volunteers  must  possess. 


RICHARD  NORTON,  '92  199 

The  foregoing  will  also  make  clear  to  you  why  we 
need  neither  doctors  nor  nurses.  Our  work  is  the  trans- 
port of  the  wounded,  and  we  provide  no  opportunities 
for  either  doctors  or  nurses  to  practise  their  ministra- 
tions. What  we  need  are,  first  and  foremost,  good 
motorists,  and  it  is  practically  essential  that  they 
should  know  some  French.  Many  of  the  writers  whose 
letters  I  have  sent  you  express  a  delightful  confidence 
that  they  can  learn  enough  of  the  vernacular  on  their 
voyage  out  to  render  their  service  effective.  It  is  a 
shame  to  dash  cold  water  on  such  pleasing  beliefs,  but 
the  fact  is  they  are  hopelessly  wrong.  They  are  like 
the  man  who,  when  asked  if  he  played  the  violin, 
repUed,  "  I  don't  know;  I  have  never  tried."  Still,  the 
general  spirit  of  the  letters  is  fine.  It  is  certain  that  we 
can  get  all  the  men  we  need  if  we  can  get  others  to  give 
us  money  to  bring  them  over,  and  I  haven't  a  doubt 
there  are  plenty  of  people  who  cannot  come  themselves 
but  who  will  be  glad  to  send  out  someone  else.  .  .  . 
Always  sincerely  yours, 

Richard  Norton. 


200  THE  DAY'S  WORK 

RICHARD  NORTON  TO  ELIOT  NORTON 

Verdun,  June  15,  1916.* 

It  is  some  time  since  I  wrote,  but  we  first  were  moving 
up  here,  and  since  arriving  have  had  strenuous  times. 
We  are  camped  some  five  miles  outside  Verdun,  where 
we  have  our  permanent  post;  another  is  at  a  hospital 
between  us  and  Verdun;  while  every  night,  as  soon  as 
it  is  dark,  we  send  out  eight  cars  to  evacuate  the 
advanced  posts.  This  is  extremely  risky  work  and  can 
only  be  done  at  night,  owing  to  the  road  being  in  view 
of  the  Germans,  who  are  not  a  kilometre  distant.  At 
night  I  have  my  ojB&ce,  as  it  were,  at  Verdun,  where 
L'hoste  has  his  main  post.  Thence,  as  there  is  need,  he 
and  I  go  up  and  down  the  line  of  posts  to  keep  the 
work  moving. 

The  advanced  posts  can  be  reached  only  at  night, 
so,  as  there  are  only  four  hours  of  darkness,  we  are 
extremely  busy.  Two  days  ago  we  were  ordered  to 
evacuate  one  of  these  posts  by  day  —  a  thing  hereto- 
fore unheard  of.  Of  course,  I  obeyed  and  sent  the  five 
cars  demanded,  following  them  up  a  short  time  after- 
ward. I  arrived  at  the  starting  point  to  find  the  first 
car  had  been  steadily  shelled  as  it  went  along  the 
road,  that  the  second,  containing  Jack  Wendell  and  a 
*  Reprinted  from  Springfield  Daily  Republican,  July  8,  1916. 


RICHARD  NORTON,  '92  201 

chauffeur  named  Hollinshed,  had  not  returned  from 
the  trip,  and  that  another  car  had  gone  to  see  what  the 
trouble  was. 

I  started  at  once  to  go  after  the  missing  cars,  but  at 
that  moment  Hoskier,  who  had  gone  after  Wendell, 
came  hurrying  round  the  corner.  He  told  me  that  both 
Wendell  and  Hollinshed  had  been  wounded,  but  not 
seriously,  as  they  were  putting  some  wounded  in  their 
car;  that  they  were  being  cared  for  at  the  poste\  that 
they  begged  me  not  to  come  up  till  dark;  that  the 
authorities  at  the  poste  begged  us  to  keep  away  for 
fear  the  poste  would  be  shelled,  and,  lastly,  he  said  it 
was  obvious  the  Boches  were  laying  for  us,  for  they 
were  shelling  our  road  steadily. 

This  was  ob\iously  the  right  thing  to  do,  but  Law- 
rence MacCreery  at  once  asked  to  be  allowed  to  go  by 
the  hoyau  with  his  chauffeur;  they  would  reach  the 
poste  as  dark  fell  and  would  bring  Wendell  and  Hollin- 
shed out  on  their  car  if  that  had  not  been  destroyed. 
This  they  very  pluckily  did.  I,  meanwhile,  had  to 
report  to  the  authorities,  and  got  back  just  as  Wendell 
and  Hollinshed  had  been  fixed  up  by  the  doctors. 
Wendell  has  a  slight  wound  in  the  back,  Hollinshed  a 
rather  more  severe  one  in  the  shoulder.  They  be- 
haved in  a  way  to  give  cause  to  their  families  to  be 
extremely  proud  of  them,  absolutely  refusing  to  return 


202  THE  DAY'S  WORK 

with  Hoskier,  but  insisting  on  his  taking  the  four  bad 
cases  they  had  gone  to  get.  They  will  both  be  given 
the  Croix  de  Guerre,  and  they  well  deserve  it. 

Since  then  we  have  had  one  car  blown  to  pieces  and 
five  others  hit.  Our  Verdun  post  is  shelled  every  even- 
ing, and  one  of  the  others  was  heavily  peppered  last 
night.  The  division  has  suffered  heavily,  and  I  do  not 
think  can  stay  more  than  a  few  days  more.  We  can't 
either,  if  we  go  on  losing  men  and  cars  at  this  rate. 

Till  today  it  has  rained  steadily,  which  has  added  to 
our  difficulties.  However,  we  are  sticking  to  it  and  I 
think  will  pull  off  the  work  all  right. 


UNDERGRADUATES  IN  THE 
AMBULANCE  SERVICE 

IN  contrast  with  the  reports  from  men  of  riper 
years,  a  letter  to  the  Crimson  from  a  former 
member  of  its  staff,  PhiHp  C.  Lewis,  of  the  class  of 
191 7,  presents  the  first  impressions  of  one  who 
would  normally  have  been  passing  through  his 
junior  year  at  Cambridge. 

Neuilly-sur-Seine,  Paris,  March  30,  191 6.* 

I'll  start  my  story  from  the  beginning  in  the  hope 
that  it  may  interest  some  of  you  in  Cambridge.  There 
were  four  of  us  on  the  ''  Finland,"  George  HoUister, 
Ray  Baldwin,  and  Bert  Williams,  and  the  trip  across 
was  uneventful  until  we  approached  the  danger  zone, 
about  forty-eight  hours  out  of  Liverpool.  American 
flags  were  painted  on  both  sides  of  the  boat,  fore  and 
aft;  these  were  illuminated  at  night  by  immense 
searchlights,  as  was  the  flag  flying  at  the  stern.  All 
lifeboats  were  swung  out  on  their  davits  ready  to  be 
lowered  instantly.  But  nothing  disturbed  our  peace- 
^  From  Harvard  Crimson,  April  25,  1916. 
203 


204         UNDERGRADUATE  SERVICE 

ful  entry  into  Liverpool  early  in  the  morning  of 
March  7. 

Here  we  struck  our  first  war  time  red-tape,  and  for 
three  hours  we  had  our  passports,  credentials  and 
baggage  examined.  By  noon  we  were  on  our  way  to 
London,  a  five-hour  ride.  We  reached  there  as  night 
was  coming  on,  and  there  we  got  our  first  impressions 
of  "  darkened  London."  All  that  has  been  written 
about  it  is  no  exaggeration.  It  seems  impossible  to 
believe  that  such  an  immense  city  could  be  so  com- 
pletely darkened.  Hotels  and  other  large  buildings 
seem  like  empty  hulks,  so  completely  do  the  heavy 
curtains  shut  in  the  light.  The  huge  busses  go  about 
at  their  usual  speed  with  lights  even  smaller  than  ordi- 
nary tail-lights.  Horse-drawn  vehicles  have  no  lights 
at  all.  Street  lamps  are  painted  black,  except  for  a 
three-inch  band  at  the  bottom.  The  whole  effect  is 
practically  absolute  darkness,  and  over  it  all,  huge 
searchlights  are  continually  on  the  watch  for  "  Zeps." 

Before  coming  to  England  I  couldn't  conceive  of  a 
population  in  which  every  man  of  military  age  had 
joined  the  army  —  it  seemed  that  there  must  be  thous- 
ands who  would  lag  behind.  But  to  see  London  now 
is  to  be  entirely  convinced.  There  are  three  groups  of 
men,  those  in  uniform  (home  on  leave),  those  wearing 
arm-bands  showing  that  for  some  good  reason  they  are 


PHILIP  C.  LEWIS,  '17  205 

exempted,  and  the  old  men.  We  in  civilian  clothes 
felt  painfully  conspicuous  and  embarrassed  —  people 
would  look  at  us  curiously  and  scornfully.  In  London, 
as  in  Paris,  women  are  seen  doing  men's  work  in  count- 
less ways,  on  street  cars,  trains,  in  hotel  offices,  etc. 

After  sundry  delays,  due  to  the  necessity  of  getting 
French  passports  and  vises  for  our  American  passports, 
we  sailed  from  Folkestone  for  Dieppe,  March  11,  on 
the  "  Sussex,"  which  was  recently  torpedoed,  reaching 
Paris  finally  at  i  a.m.  that  night.  The  next  week  was 
spent  in  getting  all  our  necessary  credentials,  getting 
our  uniforms,  taking  driving  tests,  learning  a  little 
about  repairs,  etc.  We  met  Walter  Wheeler,  Paul 
Tison  and  Julian  Lathrop  who  had  arrived  a  few  days 
before.  By  March  15,  Williams  and  Baldwin  had  gone 
to  the  front  in  the  Morgan  Harjes  service,  and  Lathrop 
had  gone  to  section  No.  i.  I  can't  mention  any  names 
of  places,  so  that  will  have  to  suffice.  The  rest  of  us 
had  to  stay  on  duty,  although  there  was  nothing  to  do, 
until  we  were  sent  to  the  front. 

The  monotony  was  relieved  by  a  dinner  given  by  the 
Harvard  Club  of  Paris,  attended  by  about  twenty- 
five,  with  Mr.  A.  P.  Andrew,  '95,  as  toastmaster.  Har- 
vard, by  the  way,  has  made  a  remarkable  record  in  this 
work.  Although  complete  figures  were  not  available, 
for  the  transportation  department  alone,  out  of  two 


2o6         UNDERGRADUATE  SERVICE 

hundred  and  fifteen  college  men  enrolled,  ninety  are 
Harvard  men.  Yale  and  Princeton  are  next,  with 
twenty-five  and  twenty-two  respectively.  This  does 
not  include  the  many  Harvard  graduates  engaged  in 
the  executive  offices,  nor  does  it  consider  the  Harvard 
Units.  The  hospital  itself  is  a  wonderfully  complete 
one,  especially  when  it  is  considered  that  it  is  a  war 
hospital  exclusively,  established  in  an  immense  build- 
ing which  was  to  have  been  a  school.  Every  detail  is 
complete  —  all  the  latest  medical  ideas  are  embodied 
here.  Its  capacity  is  about  six  hundred  and  fifty,  only 
two  hundred  and  fifty  being  cared  for  now. 

On  March  i8  I  was  sent  here  to  Section  No.  i. 
HoUister  and  Tison  are  to  go  to  Section  No.  3,  and  Bill 
Crane,  who  came  just  before  I  left,  was  still  unassigned. 
The  other  Harvard  men  here  in  this  section  are  Lath- 
rop,  Winsor,  and  Frank  Magoun.  There  are  twenty- 
three  of  us  here  and  twenty  machines,  the  last  three  of 
us  being  forced  to  wait  a  few  weeks  before  getting  cars 
of  our  own.  Meanwhile,  we  are  to  go  on  all  the  routes 
without  the  trouble  of  caring  for  the  cars.  We  live 
here  about  sixty  kilometres  from  the  lines,  and  on  our 
three  different  routes  we  visit  seven  pastes  de  secours, 
one  being  eight  hundred  metres  from  the  German 
lines,  another  slightly  over  a  kilometre,  the  others 
ranging  from  one  and  one-half  to  three  kilometres. 


JOHN  F.  BROWN,  JR., 'i8  207 

One  route  entails  night  duty,  and  I  went  out  on  it  the 
first  night.  We  went  by  a  plateau  road  furnishing  us  a 
wonderful  view.  Brilliant  signal  bombs  were  going 
up  all  along  the  semi-circle  of  hues,  and  then  we  could 
see  the  Ughtning-Hke  battery  flashes,  white  and  red. 
On  reaching  the  poste  we  were  given  some  wounded 
and  took  them  to  another  town  to  the  hospital. 
Returning  at  about  11,  we  were  sent  off  again  with  still 
more,  returning  at  3  a.m.  to  grab  a  three-hour  nap. 
The  next  morning  an  immense  English  naval  gun 
opened  up  behind  us,  and  as  the  Germans  quite  natu- 
rally replied,  I  had  my  first  experience  of  listening  to 
the  whistHng  of  shells  over  my  head.  Of  course,  there 
was  no  danger,  for  the  Germans  were  after  a  mark 
about  two  kilometres  behind  us.  I  could  tell  many 
stories  in  connection  with  the  wounded,  innumerable 
examples  of  French  courage  shown  to  us  every  day,  but 
I  have  gone  on  long  enough.  .  .  . 


FROM  JOHN  F.  BROWN,  JR.,  '18 

A  FORMER  member  of  still  a  younger  class  than  that 
of  the  undergraduate  whose  letter  has  just  been 
read  kept  a  record  of  his  experiences  with  Field 
Section  No.  i  of  the  American  Ambulance  Hospital 


2o8         UNDERGRADUATE  SERVICE 

Motor  Service.    From  the  diary  of  John  F.  Brown, 
Jr.,  'i8,  the  following  passages  are  taken: 


February  ii,  1916. 

On  service  at  V again  today.  .  .  .     Yesterday 

was  a  pretty  busy  day.  I  was  on  No.  i  route.  Made 
over  120  kilometres  during  the  day.     Ran  through 

V three  times;  each  time  it  was  being  bombarded. 

Less  than  five  minutes  before  I  pulled  into  the  yard 
here  for  lunch  two  "  105's  "  hit  the  gate-keeper's  lodge, 
which  is  connected  with  the  stable  where  we  sleep. 
All  our  men  were  at  lunch  and  nobody  was  hurt. 

After  lunch  I  got  three  couches  at  R for  V . 

They  were  sheUing  V when  I  passed  through,  and 

the  only  person  I  saw  was  an  officer  standing  in  a  door- 
way. He  waved  us  back,  but  we  made  a  run  for  it. 
Smoke  was  pouring  out  of  a  Httle  store  that  had  just 
been  hit.  We  crossed  the  bridge  all  right,  although 
the  shells  were  hitting  uncomfortably  close. 

The  Boches  dropped  ^wt  shells  into  C just  as 

we  got  there,  and  we  took  out  four  blesses  —  one  a 
four-striper.  On  the  way  home  Nelson  and  I  stopped 
for  a  few  minutes  on  the  plateau  to  watch  the  artillery 
duel  below  us.  It  was  a  weird  and  fascinating  sight  in 
the  gathering  darkness  —  the  flashes  of  the  French 


JOHN  F.  BROWN,  JR.,  'i8  209 

cannon  outlined  against  the  dark  pines  of  the  valley, 

and  the  breaking  of  the  German  shrapnel  over  R 

and  F ,  the  deep,  dark  red  flashes  of  the  French 

guns,  and  way  over  on  the  opposite  plateau  the  bright 
flash  of  the  bursting  shells. 

As  I  am  writing  this  I  can  hear  the  shells  whistling 
overhead.  This  time  they  are  higher  up.  These  don^t 
screech  —  sound  like  an  electric  motor  starting  up, 
and  then,  as  they  go  by,  a  whistle.  I  must  admit  it 
gives  me  a  funny  feeHng,  especially  as  they  are  getting 
closer,  and  none  of  them  are  exploding,  so  you  can't 
tell  how  really  close  they  are.  And  I  can't  help  think- 
ing of  the  two  holes  in  the  gate-keeper's  lodge,  and 
wondering  if  they  still  have  that  gun  set.    One  of  those 

shells  a  few  feet  further  to  the  right  or  left,  and ! 

It  doesn't  pay  to  get  thinking  of  things  like  that. 
Nelson  has  just  grabbed  his  helmet  and  gone  out  to  see 
if  he  can  see  where  any  of  them  are  landing,  and  I  guess 
I'll  go  too.  That's  the  funny  part  of  it  all,  the  shelling 
fascinates  you,  and  you  stand  out  in  the  open,  hable  to 
be  hit  at  any  minute,  but  perfectly  happy  as  long  as 
you  can  watch  what  is  going  on. 

February  13,  1916. 

Yesterday  about  two  o'clock  all  the  French  batteries 
along  this  section  opened  up.    It  started  all  at  once  — 


2IO         UNDERGRADUATE  SERVICE 

an  almost  continuous  roar,  all  sizes  of  guns;  and  every 
few  minutes  the  machine-gun  would  rattle  out,  and 
this  mingled  with  the  rifle  fire  and  the  roar  of  the  big 
guns  was  almost  deafening.  For  two  hours  there  was 
no  let-up,  and  then  the  Germans  answered. 

It  got  so  hot  in  V that  our  men  had  to  stay 

underground.    At  R several  shells  landed  on  the 

lawn  in  front  of  the  hospital,  and  finally  one  tore  its 
way  into  the  operating-room  and  exploded  there. 
Finally  it  was  decided  to  evacuate  the  entire  hospital, 
and  our  cars  did  the  job  without  the  loss  of  a  man. 

At  eight  o'clock  I  had  just  finished  a  game  of  chess 
with  "  Huts  "  when  orders  for  extra  cars  began  coming 
in.    Nelson  and  I  went  down  at  8.30,  and  the  shells 

were  still  coming  in  then.    I  took  a  post  call  to  H . 

It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  been  over  that  road, 
and  I  won't  forget  it  in  a  hurry.  The  moon  was  shin- 
ing, and  the  road  for  the  most  part  was  very  good. 
Here  and  there  was  a  shell  hole,  or  a  piece  of  a  tree  in 
the  road;  and  at  one  place  an  army  wagon  which  had 
been  demoHshed  by  a  shell.  We  drove  pretty  fast,  the 
hrancardier  and  I,  for  a  line  of  brush  screen  between 
one  and  the  mitrailleuse  doesn't  give  one  a  very  secure 
feeling.  All  the  time  the  French  artillery  was  firing 
over  us,  and  the  Boche  shells  were  coming  in.  After 
turning  the  corner  at  H the  road  to  the  posle  was 


JOHN  F.  BROWN,  JR.,  'i8  211 

very  steep  and  rough.  There  were  many  shell  holes 
and  piles  of  brick  and  stone  in  the  road.  Here  it  was 
very  narrow,  and  we  had  to  climb  it  on  low  speed,  it 
was  so  steep.  We  climbed  through  two  rows  of  build- 
ings, but  came  to  a  place  where  there  was  a  break  in 
the  buildings  on  the  right.  ''  A  little  faster  here,  the 
mitrailleurs  sweep  the  road  at  this  point,"  said  my 
comrade.  We  pulled  up  to  the  poste,  and  I  shut  the 
engine  off,  as  it  was  boiling.  There  was  no  one  in  sight 
when  we  stopped,  but  the  hrancardiers  were  waiting 
for  us,  and  they  brought  our  man  from  underground. 
As  they  were  putting  the  stretcher  in  the  car  I  could 
hear  the  bullets  from  the  mitrailleuse  and  rifles  smash- 
ing against  the  court-yard  wall.  My  hrancardier 
looks  at  me  and  smiles. 

The  Uesse  is  loaded  slowly  and  carefully,  and  I  am 
just  cranking  my  car,  when  the  doctor  in  charge  of  the 
poste  walks  out,  shakes  hands  with  me,  thanks  me  for 
coming,  and  wishes  me  good  luck  on  the  return  trip. 

As  we  shot  down  the  hill,  I  couldn't  help  but  think 
of  that  open  space  in  the  walls.  ''  The  Boches  are  less 
than  300  metres  from  us  at  this  point,"  said  my  com- 
panion. All  the  time  we  could  hear  the  rifle  bullets  go 
"  spat "  up  against  the  wall,  and  every  few  minutes 
the  "  plop,  plop,  plop  "  oi  the  mitrailleuse)  and  now 
there  is  no  wall,  and  we  hold  our  breath.    Now  we  hit 


212         UNDERGRADUATE  SERVICE 

a  pile  of  bricks  while  trying  to  dodge  a  shell  hole,  and 

at  last  we  turn  the  corner  into  H ,  and  the  walls 

again.    A  good  straight  road  to  V ,  and  we  make 

the  most  of  it.  Our  blesse  is  to  go  to  the  hospital  at 
C ,  "  vitement.''^  He  is  hke  most  of  them  —  badly- 
wounded  and  dead  game  I  Not  a  sound  as  the  car  rolls 
and  rocks  down  the  road  in  the  moonlight! 

February  17,  1916. 

I  WAS  on  No.  I  again  to-day.    While  at  the  hospital  in 

V ,    I  met  a  Harvard  man  (1910)  who  had  been 

wounded  three  times  and  was  just  getting  over  an 
attack  of  fever;  outside  of  that,  as  he  said,  he  was  feel- 
ing fine.    He  had  served  with  the  Legion. 

I  saw  one  of  the  saddest  sights  today  I  have  seen 
since  I  have  been  over  here.     I  had  stopped  at  the 

hospital  in  V to  unload  my  sick  and  wounded. 

The  last  man  to  crawl  out  was  forty  if  he  was  a  day, 
and  so  sick  that  he  could  hardly  walk.  He  was  shaking 
with  fever  and  couldn't  stand  up  straight.  It  took  him  a 
very  long  time  to  get  from  the  car  to  the  hospital,  even 
with  my  help.  As  I  left  him  I  pressed  a  franc  into  his 
hot  and  shaking  hand,  and  said,  ^^  pour  les  cigarettes. ^^ 
He  looked  at  me  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  as  he 
thanked  me  and  saluted,  I  turned  away  with  my  own 
eyes  moist.    I  felt  almost  ashamed  of  being  young  and 


JOHN  F.  BROWN,  JR.,  ^i8  213 

healthy,  and  of  driving  an  ambulance.  It  is  a  crime 
to  put  men  of  that  age  into  the  trenches  in  the  winter 
time!  They  can't  stand  the  strain.  I  have  seen  it 
time  and  time  again.  It  is  bad  enough  to  see  a  man 
wounded,  but  to  see  a  man  who  hadn't  been  touched, 
all  broken  in  health,  and  unable  to  hold  his  head  up, 
that  to  me  is  the  saddest  thing  of  all. 

February  18,  1916. 

Yesterday   the   lieutenant  got   a   letter   from   the 

Medecin-chef  at  R ,  commending  the  section  for  its 

"  bravery  and  devotion  in  evacuating  the  wounded 
during  the  last  bombardment  of  the  V R sec- 
tor," and  mentioning  Woolverton  [a  Yale  man]  parti- 
cularly, as  having  ''  several  shells  break  very  close  to 
his  machine."  Of  course,  we  are  all  pretty  much 
pleased,  and  everybody  is  tickled  to  death  that 
"  Woolvy  "  was  mentioned,  as  it  means  a  "  croix-de- 
guerre  "  for  him. 

February  24,  1916. 

Had  a  call  to  the  poste  at  V .    After  I  had  turned 

my  car  around  at  the  poste,  a  doctor  came  to  the  front 
of  the  car  and  said.  '^  We  want  you  to  wait  about  five 
minutes."  Had  I  not  seen  that  his  arms  were  covered 
with  blood,  nearly  to  his  elbows,  I  would  have  known 
by  the  quiet  manner  of  the  little  group  around  the 


214         UNDERGRADUATE  SERVICE 

door  of  the  poste  what  the  five-minute  wait  was  for. 
I  got  out  of  the  car  and  saw  the  bloody  sac  and  rifle 
standing  by  the  door,  and  the  look  on  the  faces  of  the 
men  pausing  on  their  way  to  and  from  the  premiere 
ligne.  But  I  arranged  my  stretcher  and  blankets  and 
waited.  At  the  end  of  a  few  minutes  the  doctor  re- 
appeared and  said,  *'  You  may  go  now;  he  is  dead." 
I  asked  him  how  it  happened,  and  he  said,  as  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  *'  Nobody  knows.  He  lay  in 
the  hoyau  for  an  hour  and  a  half  before  he  was  found." 
He  had  bled  to  death  almost  within  call  of  his  com- 
rades. Just  one  more  man  who  has  died,  without  any 
mention  of  his  name,  even  —  for  France.  One  more 
croix  de  hois  in  the  ever-growing  graveyard  on  the 
hillside  behind  the  lines  he  had  helped  to  hold  in  the 
attack  last  week.  One  more  letter  to  a  family  stating 
that  so  and  so  had  been  killed  in  action  on  such  and 
such  a  date.  Sometimes  we  wonder  how  many  crosses 
there  are  on  the  hillside  behind  the  gray  Unes  of  the 
Boches,  and  which  group  grows  the  more  rapidly. 

We  are  all  speculating  on  the  attacks  around  Ver- 
dun, and  what  they  signify. 


FROM  THE  LETTERS  OF  TWO 
AMBULANCE  DRIVERS 

NO  phase  of  the  work  of  American  volunteers 
in  the  European  War  has  been  described  more 
fully  than  that  of  the  ambulance  drivers.  Each 
one  of  them  sees  it  from  his  individual  angle  of 
vision,  and  so  contributes  a  fresh  element  to  the 
general  understanding  of  the  nature  of  this  perilous 
and  most  humane  service.  The  following  passages 
from  intimate  letters  of  C.  S.  Forbes,  'oo,  and  C.  R. 
Codman,  2d,  '15,  with  the  motor  corps  of  the  Am- 
erican Ambulance  Hospital,  will  yield  the  final  im- 
pression —  for  this  collection  —  of  the  work  in 
which  so  many  Harvard  men  have  been  engaged. 
The  fight  at  Verdun  is,  more  patently,  the  scene  of 
Codman's  experiences. 

FROM  C.  S.  FORBES,  '00 

March  3,  1916. 
I  AM  writing  this  in  a  stable  alfresco  with  snowy  sleet 
falling  outside,  and  damned  cold  on  the  hands,  so  that 

21s 


2i6   LETTERS  OF  AMBULANCE  DRIVERS 

if  my  orthography  is  not  as  perfect  as  usual  you  will 
know  the  reason.  There  is  no  light  in  our  sleeping 
apartment,  except  that  coming  from  a  few  small  logs 
of  wood  burning  in  an  open  work  stove,  and  from  two 
small  windows  a  foot  square  at  each  end  of  the  vaulted 
old  wine-cellar  where  we  are  quartered.  There  are 
about  twenty-five  other  French  soldiers  sleeping  there, 
and  I  trust  it  is  bomb-proof,  though  this  place  is  only 
shelled  intermittently  and  has  not  been  honored  for 
about  a  week. 

This  is  one  of  our  advanced  posts,  which  our  section 
maintains  about  half  way  between  the  trenches  and  the 
barracks  where  the  main  outfit  is  quartered.  We  stay 
here  two  days  at  a  time,  and  four  days  at  the  other 
place,  in  rotation;  and  from  these  we  serve  a  number  of 
posies  de  secours  or  dressing-stations  near  the  line  and 
take  the  wounded  to  any  of  a  number  of  designated 
hospitals  in  the  vicinity.  From  this  place  we  can  only 
go  forward  at  night,  as  the  roads  leading  from  here  are 
under  the  direct  fire  of  the  enemy  and  it  is  not  con- 
sidered healthy  to  venture  out  with  such  a  valuable 
piece  of  property  as  a  Ford.  This  is  my  first  visit  away 
from  our  barracks,  so  I  am  not  able  to  give  you  any 
exciting  details  of  dodging  shells,  but  some  of  our  fel- 
lows come  in  every  day  with  stories  of  narrow  escapes, 
most  of  which,  I  have  no  doubt,  are  fiction.    Still  it  is  a 


C.  S.  FORBES,  'oo  217 

wonder  to  me  that  none  of  our  fellows  have  been  hit. 
Last  night  the  Boches  turned  a  search-light  into  a 
French  ambulance,  on  the  road  from  here,  and  pep- 
pered it  for  two  miles,  but  luckily  did  not  touch  it. 
They  would,  of  course,  like  to  do  the  same  to  us. 

I  have  not  as  yet  come  into  contact  with  any  distres- 
sing cases  of  wounded  soldiers,  but  three  men  have  died 
in  our  ambulances  on  the  way  to  the  operating  rooms 
from  the  dressing  stations  within  the  last  week.  I  am 
not  looking  forward  to  that  sort  of  thing  at  ail. 

The  village  I  am  in  is  most  picturesque,  quite  Swiss 
looking,  with  lots  of  muddy  helmeted  soldiers  standing 
around  the  doorways  and  walking  about  the  streets. 
All  the  moving  is  done  at  night.  The  country  is  quite 
hilly  and  when  the  spring  comes  it  will  be  perfectly 
lovely,  except  for  the  constant  reminder  of  war  ever 
present. 

The  other  day  I  was  at  our  other  advanced  post, 
where  I  walked  in  the  daytime  and  had  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  a  German  aeroplane  being  shelled,  with,  how- 
ever, no  tangible  results.  A  battery  of  French  "  75's '' 
was  barking  away,  only  a  short  distance  away;  but  al- 
though you  could  hear  the  explosion  of  the  shells  in  the 
distance,  I  could  not  realize  that  the  thing  was  at  all 
real.  Last  night  we  also  had  an  interesting  view  of  an 
aeroplane  being  shelled  at  night.    We  were  just  going 


2i8    LETTERS  OF  AMBULANCE  DRIVERS 

into  our  dinner  at  6.30  at  our  barracks  when  a  rocket 
went  up  in  the  distance,  and  a  few  seconds  later  six  or 
eight  powerful  searchlights  began  sweeping  the  skies 
for  the  German.  Anti-aircraft  guns  also  started  shoot- 
ing, and  the  exploding  of  the  shrapnel  in  the  sky  could 
be  distinctly  seen  by  the  successive  flashes.  It  seemed 
like  some  sort  of  gala  occasion,  and  not  at  all  that  the 
purpose  of  the  thing  was  really  to  kill  some  unseen  cuss 
flying  in  the  sky! 

April  9,  1916. 

Life  here  is  quite  monotonous  at  times,  and  at  others 
as  strenuous  as  anyone  could  wish.  We  are  quartered 
at  present  in  mihtary  barracks,  which  we  use  as  a  base, 
and  have  two  other  more  advanced  posts  much  nearer 
the  firing  line.  We  stay  four  days  at  a  time  at  one,  and 
two  days  at  the  other,  taking  our  turns  in  rotation. 
Going  into  statistics,  there  are  twenty-one  hospitals  in 
our  sector  that  we  serve,  and  about  eighteen  dressing 
stations  {pastes  de  secours.)  It  is  at  the  advanced 
posts  that  our  real  interesting  work  takes  place.  At  a 
great  many  points  we  pass  over  roads  that  are  con- 
stantly shelled  by  the  Germans,  and  some  that  are  near 
enough  to  the  enemy  lines  to  be  suicide  to  cross  in  day- 
time. These  we  have  to  reach  by  night,  driving,  of 
course,  without  any  lights,  and  with  as  Httle  sound  as 
possible.    This,  I  find  most  trying,  especially  on  cloudy 


C.  S.  FORBES,  'oo  219 

nights,  and  worse  still  if  it  is  raining  as  well.  The  roads 
near  the  front  are,  as  you  may  imagine,  none  too  good, 
and  pitted  at  many  unexpected  spots  with  recent  shell 
holes.  As  soon  as  it  is  dark,  long  trains  of  transports 
move  forward  to  re-stock  the  Hues  at  the  front,  and 
troops  straggle  along  to  relieve  the  men  in  the  trenches. 
As  the  drivers  of  the  wagons  seem  to  make  a  habit  of 
driving  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  road,  you  can  imagine 
what  fun  it  is  trying  to  make  any  sort  of  time  when  you 
have  a  load  of  badly  wounded  on  board.  So  far  —  so 
far,  I  repeat,  as  I  expect  to  be  less  lucky — I  have  only 
been  smashed  into  once.  I  had  three  wounded,  on  a 
very  black  night  on  a  road  which  the  stretcher-bearers 
cheerfully  told  me  had  been  swept  by  machine-gun 
fire  the  night  before,  going  along  at  a  snail's  pace,  when 
a  great  sleepy  drunken  driver  refused  to  give  me  room, 
and  crashed  into  me.  Great  was  my  trepidation  when 
I  got  out  to  find  what  remained.  Visions  of  my  three 
wounded  marooned  all  night,  and  my  car  blown  to 
pieces  as  soon  as  dawn  broke,  filled  my  more  or  less 
agitated  brain,  but  great  was  my  joy  to  find  that,  with 
the  exception  of  a  smashed  mudguard,  bent  triangle 
and  front  axle,  and  broken  radiator,  the  trusty  Ford 
was  able  to  limp  safely  into  port  ten  miles  away. 
Shells  bursting  anywhere  near  me  fill  me  with  the 
gravest  alarm  and  dread.  .  .  . 


2  20    LETTERS  OF  AMBULANCE  DRIVERS 

German  shells  are  most  terrifying.  You  can  hear 
them  a  fraction  of  a  second  before  they  burst.  They 
come  along  with  a  sort  of  malicious  hiss,  a  hiss  full  of 
hatred  and  death,  then  a  BANG!  that  seems  to  pene- 
trate to  your  inmost  soul  —  it  is  a  BANG  full  of 
devilish  purpose  and  hellish  efficiency,  a  bang  that 
intends  to  tear  every  shred  of  your  living  flesh  to 
smallest  fragments  and  blow  what  remains  of  your  soul 
to  the  other  side  of  eternity.  In  other  words,  they 
scare  me  to  death,  and  I  have  no  desire  to  stand  up  in 
the  open  amid  a  storm  of  shot  and  shell.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  I  haven't  met  any  soldier  who  hasn't  the  most 
profound  respect  for  them,  and  the  more  experienced 
the  man,  the  quicker  he  knows  how  to  dive  into  a 
shelter  hole.  .  .  . 

May  i8. 

I  AM  afraid  I  have  nothing  new  to  tell  you.  We  are  in 
the  process  of  moving  to  another  place,  and  conse- 
quently there  is  much  excitement  and  movement.  For 
the  first  time  since  being  here,  we  have  seen  troops  with 
fixed  bayonettes  marching  behind  bands,  and  flying 
standards,  and  have  got  a  small  glimpse  of  the  old  time 
picturesqueness  and  panoply  of  war;  we  had  been 
seeing  nothing  but  a  lot  of  tired  men  straggling  along  in 
muddy  old  garments  of  every  description.  We  have 
recently  seen  a  lot  of  the  Alpine  troops  around  here, 


C.  S.  FORBES, 'oo  221 


and  they  certainly  are  a  snappy  looking  crowd  of 
youngsters  —  all  with  shad  bellies  —  and  their  officers 
in  particular  are  especially  smart  and  well  set  up. 

Although  work  behind  the  front  out  of  sound  of  the 
guns  and  shells  seems  comparatively  dull,  I  shall  not  be 
sorry  to  go  to  new  fields.  It  is  not  nearly  so  trying  to 
my  particular  nerves  to  drive  over  roads  which  are 
supposed  to  be  in  a  dangerous  zone,  as  it  is  to  go  to 
places  which  you  know  are  favorite  spots  for  German 
shells,  and  where  you  have  seen  them  burst  time  and 
again.  When  driving  in  those  places,  my  terror  does 
not  seem  to  strike  me  in  the  pit  of  the  stomach  or  any 
particular  spot,  but  I  get  a  feeling  of  general  debility 
accompanied  by  distinct  homesickness  for  dear  Boston. 

July  I. 

We  are  in  a  busy  sector  here  all  right.  We  are  quar- 
tered in  a  tent,  which  leaks  Hke  a  sieve  every  time  it 
rains;  and  it  has  been  raining  steadily  in  buckets  since 
almost  B.C.  We  drive  out  every  night,  that  is  to  say 
three  nights  out  of  four,  to  the  posts  at  the  Front  which 
we  evacuate.  We  make  a  half-way  stop  at  another  vil- 
lage about  ten  kilometres  from  the  advanced  posts. 
These  ten  kilometres  seem  more  Hke  a  thousand  when 
the  Germans  are  shelling  the  roads,  which  is  about  all 
the  time.    This  second  village  is  apt  to  be  bombarded 


222   LETTERS  OF  AMBULANCE  DRIVERS 

with  fairly  heavy  pieces,  so  that  waiting  around  there 
for  orders  is  no  pleasant  pastime.  I  saw  a  shell  go 
through  the  roof  of  the  house  just  opposite  our  cars, 
and  next  to  the  room  where  we  have  benches  to  sit  on. 
It  might  just  as  well  have  been  ten  yards  to  the  left 
and  killed  a  lot  of  our  men.  The  next  night  a  large 
shell  burst  right  in  the  middle  of  the  street  where  our 
cars  are  lined  up,  but  luckily  half  an  hour  before  we 
arrived.  It  killed  eighteen  outright,  and  seriously 
wounded  twenty-two  others.  The  dead  were  all  lined 
up  on  the  street  when  we  arrived,  and  presented  a  most 
ghastly  appearance  with  their  hideously  atrocious 
lacerations.  It  was  not  a  very  pleasant  sight  to  start 
off  on  our  night's  work,  which  is  hard  enough  on  the 
nerves  without  such  side  horrors.  Although  the  Ger- 
mans do  not  necessarily  aim  individual  shots  at  us,  we 
follow  the  roads  of  the  convoys  that  pass  to  and  from 
this  very  active  front  —  change  of  troops,  artillery, 
and  all  the  long  re-stocking  trains  —  and  it  is  their 
object,  of  course,  to  destroy  these  communications; 
this  is  how  we  get  it  in  the  neck.  There  are  two  or 
three  spots  along  the  road  which  are  particularly 
marked,  and  you  can  bet  your  boots  that  when  we 
approach  these  places  we  put  on  full  speed  ahead  as 
far  as  the  shell  holes  in  the  road  will  allow,  or  the  con- 
dition of  the  wounded  in  the  car  without  actually  kill- 


C.  S.  FORBES,  'oo  223 

ing  them.  On  the  way  up  there  are  also  countless 
French  batteries  on  both  sides  of  the  road,  which 
naturally  come  in  for  attention  from  the  Boches. 
Finally,  when  we  get  up  to  the  poste  de  secours,  which 
is  quite  high  up  a  hill,  we  have  to  expect  shells  any 
minute  that  are  aimed  at  a  battery  right  next  door.  It 
is  most  nerve-racking  work,  and  most  terrifying.  How- 
ever, when  you  are  actually  on  the  move,  there  is  such 
a  hell  of  a  lot  going  on  that  you  have  Httle  time  to 
make  psychological  studies  of  your  sensations.  To 
begin  with,  there  is  the  no  mean  task  of  steering  your 
trusty  Ford  clear  of  shell  holes  and  ditches,  not  such  a 
cinch  when  it  is  raining  cats  and  dogs,  and  it  is  blacker 
than  the  deepest  dungeon.  Last  night  the  French 
section  that  shares  the  work  with  us  had  six  big  cars 
ditched,  en  route. 

When  there  is  an  attack  on,  the  scene  is  quite  inde- 
scribably unreal.  The  din  is  most  awe-inspiring. 
Seemingly  from  almost  every  square  yard  for  miles 
around  the  French  guns  belch  forth  a  continuous 
stream  of  death  into  the  inferno  in  front,  and  the  Ger- 
mans answer  in  like  manner  with  their  shrieking  and 
shattering  shells.  From  all  sides  rockets  shoot  up  into 
the  sky  as  if  celebrating  some  gala  performance  of  the 
Devil  himself.  White  rockets  that  remain  in  the  air 
for  about  a  minute,  red  balls  of  fire,  green  lights,  great 


2  24   LETTERS  OF  AMBULANCE  DRIVERS 

flares  of  bengal  lights,  and  some  great  fiendish  looking 
things,  that  zigzag  across  the  sky  like  some  gigantic 
snake.  And  then  when  all  this  bedlam  dies  down  we 
get  the  miserable  results  that  are  carried  in,  covered 
with  mud  and  blood.  Human  life  is  certainly  cheap 
in  these  parts.  I  am  quite  surprised  that  I  can  look  at 
all  these  bloody  and  dying  men  almost  unmoved. 
Before  I  did  this  work  the  smell  of  an  operating  room 
would  almost  make  me  pass  out.  I  don't  know  how 
much  longer  we  are  going  to  be  on  this  front.  I  hope 
not  too  long,  as  it  is  beginning  to  wear  on  the  nerves. 
We  go  out  each  night,  expecting  it  to  be  our  last,  but 
somehow  we  get  back  all  right.  I  trust  our  good  luck 
will  continue. 

FROM  C.  R.  CODMAN,  2D,  '15 

June  19. 
After  an  extremely  interesting  trip  we  have  finally 
arrived  at  the  hub  of  the  western  front.  For  the  last 
week  we  have  been  pushing  our  way  by  stages  along 
the  main  road  leading  to  the  city,  which  is  jammed 
with  traffic  like  Fifth  Avenue  at  five  o'clock.  Day  and 
night  there  is  a  ceaseless  stream  of  trucks  bringing  back 
remnants  of  regiments,  and  taking  up  fresh  ones.  The 
road  is  pretty  badly  worn  and  the  dust  terrific. 

For   the  present   we   are   encamped    temporarily 
about  ten  kilometres  from  the  city,  waiting  for  our 


C.  R.  CODMAN,  2D,  '15  225 

division  to  go  into  action.  The  surrounding  hills  are 
covered  with  tents  and  picketted  horses,  and  in  the 
evening,  with  the  smoke  rising  from  the  camp  fires,  it 
looks  quite  Hke  a  scene  from  a  Civil  War  movie.  From 
the  top  of  a  near-by  ridge,  however,  one  gets  a  picture 
which  is  distinctly  up-to-date,  with  balloons,  duelling 
aeroplanes,  and  high  explosive  shells  bursting  on  the 
cotes  opposite.  It  is  an  extraordinary  and  exhilarating 
feeling  to  be  actually  taking  in  the  greatest  battle  of 
history  from  a  front-row  seat,  so  to  speak. 

Last  night  a  few  of  us  went  in  a  staff  car  to  look  over 
the  road  which  is  to  be  our  regular  run.  It  was  in- 
tensely interesting.  The  approaches  to  the  city  were 
seething  with  trucks  and  galloping  artillery,  and  the 
noise  of  the  bombardment  deafening  beyond  all 
description.  We  passed  through  the  city  itself,  which 
I  can't  describe,  but  which  is  unbelievably  shattered, 
and  out  to  a  suburb  on  the  other  side  where  the  real 
run  begins.  Here  we  waited  for  it  to  get  entirely  dark, 
as  the  road  from  here  on  more  or  less  parallels  the  lines, 
converging  towards  them,  and  ending  in  a  poste  de 
secours  which  is  only  a  few  hundred  yards  from  the 
trenches.  All  the  way  out  the  firing  was  uninter- 
rupted and  appaUingly  loud.  The  whistle  of  shells  was 
a  distinct  novelty,  though  not  a  particularly  pleasant 
one,  but,  as  a  spectacular  performance,  the  incessant 


2  26    LETTERS  OF  AMBULANCE  DRIVERS 

flashing  of  the  guns,  and  the  flare  of  star-bombs  and 
multi-colored  rockets  made  a  really  superb  display. 
Those  who  claim  that  there  is  nothing  picturesque 
about  modern  warfare  are  all  off.    It's  gorgeous.  .  .  . 

July  lo. 
...  I  AM  afraid  I  have  not  written  for  some  time,  but 
the  last  weeks  have  been  strenuously  busy  as  well  as 
rather  harrowing,  and  what  time  off  I  have  had  has 
been  spent  in  dreamless  sleep.  Looking  back  on  the 
ten  days  spent  at  Verdun,  I  feel  that  it  was  perfectly 
miraculous,  our  getting  away  with  only  one  man 
badly  wounded.  Our  run  was  from  Verdun  to  Bras, 
over  a  road  which  was  shelled  intermittently  every 
night.  I  have  no  right  to  describe  the  thing  in  detail, 
and  in  a  way  I  would  rather  not  anyway,  as  just  now  I 
am  trying  to  forget  it  as  much  as  possible.  Of  course 
it  was  a  wonderful  experience,  and  I  would  not  have 
missed  it  for  anything,  but  you  can  judge  how  lucky 
we  were  when  I  tell  you  that  half  the  cars  have  holes  in 
them  from  eclats,  and  that  two  or  three  men  were 
grazed  by  shrapnel,  one  bullet  actually  lodging  in 
Waldo  Peirce's  pocket-book  in  the  most  approved 
melodramatic  manner.  .  .  . 

I  think  the  psychology  of  shells  is  rather  interesting. 
At  first,  everything  is  so  new  and  interesting  and  unbe- 


C.  R.  CODMAN,  2D,  '15  227 

lievable  that  it  seems  as  if  it  must  be  more  or  less  pre- 
arranged and  that  a  mere  spectator  is  perfectly  safe. 
Gradually,  however,  after  a  few  come  rather  close,  and 
you  have  seen  other  men  hit,  it  dawns  on  you  that  you 
are  really  apt  to  get  hit  if  you  hang  around  long  enough, 
and  finally  after  being  actually  spattered,  you  become 
absolutely  convinced  that  it  is  just  a  question  of  time 
when  they  get  you.  I  know,  towards  the  end,  I  was 
perfectly  sure  that  I  was  not  coming  out  of  it  alive. 

The  night  after  our  arrival  the  Germans  launched  a 
gas  attack,  which  is  about  the  most  unpleasant  thing 
imaginable.  Fortunately,  we  had  been  equipped  with 
gas  masks  that  really  fitted,  and  which  were  entirely 
effective,  but  it  was  impossible  to  see  through  them 
clearly  enough  to  drive  a  car,  so  that  when  actually  on 
the  road  we  had  to  go  without  them.  Most  of  the  gas 
was  of  the  ^  lacrimogene '  variety,  which  merely  makes 
your  eyes  run  and  your  throat  sting,  but  out  towards 
Bras  one  got  a  whiff  of  the  chlorine,  which  is  fearful. 
Many  of  those  whom  we  brought  in  overcome  died 
soon  after  in  horrible  agony.  Altogether  it  was  rather 
a  depressing  debut  in  the  war  zone.  We  all  noticed  as 
a  curious  after-effect  of  the  gas,  that  for  days  after- 
wards cigarettes  tasted  like  the  most  horrible  sulphur 
fumes,  and  all  liquor,  like  powerful  acid,  (which  you  will 
doubtless  consider  confirms  the  saying,  "It  is  an  ill 


228    LETTERS  OF  AMBULANCE  DRIVERS 

wind,"  etc.).  It  was  really  an  extraordinary  experi- 
ence to  be  right  in  the  thick  of  the  most  acute  stage  of 
this  terrific  battle.  Second  only  to  the  wonderful  forti- 
tude of  the  wounded,  who  are  always  magnificent,  was 
the  really  heroic  behavior  of  the  brancardiers,  who 
crawl  out  between  the  lines,  and  carry  in  wounded  on 
their  backs.  To  me  it  seems  that  their  work  requires 
more  real  courage  than  any  other  branch  of  the  service. 
For  the  next  few  weeks  we  shall  been  repos  while  the 
division  fills  out  its  depleted  numbers.  .  .  . 


"  LE  ROI  DE  L'AIR  EST  ROYALE- 
MENT  MORT " 

IN  these  words  a  Parisian  journalist  brought  to 
an  end  his  tribute  to  the  Hfe  and  death  of  Victor 
Chapman.^  This  young  graduate  of  Harvard,  of 
the  class  of  191 3,  a  son  of  John  Jay  Chapman,  '84, 
was  in  Paris,  studying  architecture,  when  the  War 
broke  out.  He  enhsted  at  once  in  the  Foreign 
Legion  of  the  French  Army,  and  rendered  courage- 
ous, cheerful  service  in  its  ranks.  When  the  Franco- 
American  Aviation  Squadron  was  formed  in  the 
spring  of  191 5,  Chapman  attached  himself  to  it, 
the  youngest  of  the  five  Harvard  men  in  the  corps 
—  Frazier  Curtis,  '98,  Norman  Prince,  '08,  Lau- 
rence Rumsey,  '08,  and  E.  C.  Cowdin,  2d,  '09,  be- 
ing the  others.  Chapman's  skill  and  intrepidity 
won  him,  among  the  French,  the  title  of  "  le  roi  de 
Fair.''  The  sheer  joy  of  the  perilous  game  he  was 
playing,  with  all  the  devotion  of  a  nature  quickened 
by  a  deep  sense  of  righteousness,  imparts  a  color  of 

*  See  L'Opinion,  Paris,  July  i,  1916. 

23Q 


230      "LE  ROI  DE  L'AIR  EST  MORT  " 

its  own  to  the  pages  of  the  following  letter  written 
to  his  younger  brother  in  the  month  before  that  of 
his  death. 

May  3,  1916 
Dear  Conrad:  Ha!  A  snooze  and  a  warm  bath  at  the 
cure  house.  Now,  let's  see  —  yesterday  my  machine 
not  being  ready,  I  took  an  old  baby,  sent  for  the 
M.  F.'s  to  practise  on:  nice  engine,  climbs  fine,  just  the 
thing  to  practise  '  virages  '  with,  and  make  one  at  home 
in  an  aeroplane  turning  unusual  positions.  '  Kerage ' 
verticale;  to  the  right,  to  the  left;  renverssemenl  a 
'  loopine ';  up,  up,  upside  down,  motor  cut  waiting,  wait- 
ing —  I  forgot  to  keep  the  broomstick  on  my  stomach, 
so  it  did  not  finish,  but  began  to  corkscrew  down,  nose 
first.  ''  What  the  deuce  ?  "  I  thought,  "  ah,  yes,  the 
famous  vrille  one  hears  so  much  about."  Whee,  but 
she  spins  round!  Here's  where  I  apply  the  remedy  — 
foot  and  hand  to  the  inside  to  accentuate  the  swing  and 
give  it  more  impetus,  hence  control.  Now  straighten 
out  with  the  feet  and  pull  on  the  stick.  There  we  are! 
Over  switch,  and  on  motor !  I'm  very  glad  to  have  done 
it,  for  it  is  the  worst  thing  that  can  happen;  barring 
breakage  in  air.  Now  I  know  I  can  get  myself  out  of 
any  knots  I  may  tie  myself  in  while  manoeuvring  with 
a  Boche.  (I  take  it  in  a  flight  one's  position  towards 
the  adversary  must  be  of  first  importance,  and  that  to 


VICTOR  CHAPMAN,  '13  231 

the  ground,  secondary).  It  was  well  I  went  well  up  to 
twelve  or  fifteen  hundred  metres  before  experimenting, 
for  I  was  not  more  than  five  or  six  hundred  when  I 
came  out.  Some  of  the  sharks,  aces  they  call  them 
here,  do  the  vrille  for  fun,  at  fifty  or  seventy-five  metres 
over  the  hangars.  I  have  never  seen  it,  but  hear  it  is 
thrilling.  Rather  foolish  though,  for  it  strains  the 
machine,  and  if  one  does  it  too  near  he  dives  into  the 
ground  like  a  bullet. 

But  for  this  morning:  Rockwell  called  me  up  at 
three,  "  fine  day,  get  up! ''  It  was  very  clear,  we  hung 
around  at  Billy's,  and  took  chocolate  made  by  his 
ordonnance.  Hall  and  the  Lieutenant  were  guards  on 
the  field;  but  Thaw,  Rockwell,  and  I  thought  we  would 
take  a  "  tour  chez  les  Boches."  Being  the  first  time, 
the  mechanaux  were  not  there,  and  the  machine-gun 
rolls  not  ready.  However,  it  looked  misty  in  the 
Vosges,  so  we  were  not  hurried.  ''  Rendezvous  over 
the  field  at  a  thousand  metres,"  shouted  Kiffin.  I 
nodded,  for  the  motor  was  turning;  and  we  sped  over 
the  field  and  up. 

In  my  little  cock-pit,  from  which  my  shoulders  just 
protrude,  I  have  several  diversions  besides  flying.  The 
compass,  of  course,  and  the  map  I  keep  tucked  in  a 
tiny  closet  over  the  reservoir  before  my  knees,  a  small 
clock,  and  an  aUimetre.    But  most  important  is  the 


232      "  LE  ROI  DE  L'AIR  EST  MORT  " 

contour,  showing  revolutions  of  the  motor,  which  one 
is  constantly  regarding  as  he  moves  the  manettes  of 
gasolene  and  gas,  back  and  forth.  To  husband  one's 
fuel  and  tease  the  motor  to  round  eleven  takes  atten- 
tion, for  the  carburetter  changes  with  the  weather  and 
the  altitude. 

Over  the  field  we  soared,  and  due  east  for  B — . 
Twelve,  sixteen,  nineteen,  twenty- two,  twenty-four 
hundred  metres  —  mounting  well  at  one  thousand  one 
hundred  and  eighty  turns.  The  earth  seemed  hidden 
under  a  fine  web  such  as  the  Lady  of  Shallot  wove; 
soft  purple  in  the  west  changing  to  shimmering  white 
in  the  east.  Under  me  on  the  left,  the  Vosges,  Uke 
rounded  sand  dunes  cushioned  up  with  velvety  Hght 
and  dark  mosses  (really  forests).  But  to  the  south, 
standing  firmly  above  the  purple  cloth  like  icebergs 
shone  the  Alps.  My!  they  looked  steep  and  jagged. 
The  sharp  blue  shadows  on  their  western  slopes  empha- 
sized the  effect.  One  mighty  group  standing  aloof  to 
the  West — Mont  Blanc,  perhaps.  Ah,  there  are  quan- 
tities of  worm-eaten  fields  —  my  friends,  the  trenches, 
—  and  that  town  with  the  canal  going  through  it 
must  be  M — .  Right  beside  the  capote  of  my  engine, 
shining  through  the  white  silk  cloth,  a  silver  snake: 
the  Rhine!  "  What,  not  over  quarter  to  six,  and  I  left 
the  field  at  five!    Thirty- two  hundred  metres.    Let's 


VICTOR  CHAPMAN,  '13  233 

go  north  and  have  a  look  at  the  map.  Boo,  my  feet  are 
getting  cold!  " 

While  thus  engaged  "  Trun-un-ng-tsss  ''  —  a  black 
puff  of  smoke  appeared  behind  my  tail,  and  I  had  the 
impression  of  having  a  piece  of  iron  hiss  by.  "  Must 
have  got  my  range,  first  shot!  "  I  surmised,  and 
making  a  steep  bank,  pique' d  heavily.  "  There,  IVe 
lost  them  now ! ''  The  whole  art  of  avoiding  shells  is  to 
pay  no  attention  till  they  get  your  range,  and  then 
dodge  away,  change  altitude,  and  generally  avoid  going 
in  a  straight  Une.  In  point  of  fact,  I  could  see  bunches 
of  exploding  shells  up  over  my  right  shoulder,  now  a 
kilometre  oiBf.  They  continued  to  shell  that  section  for 
some  time;  tJie  little  balls  of  smoke  thinning  out  and 
merging  as  they  crossed  the  lines. 

Billy  Thaw  and  Rockwell  came  over  me,  thirty- 
seven  hundred  metres  they  must  have  been;  I  tried  to 
follow  them  but  found  it  difficult.  Up  by  A —  I 
recrossed  the  Hues,  taking  a  look  at  T —  and  returned 
over  M — .  I  met  the  same  reception,  but  their  aim  was 
wild,  two  or  three  hundred  metres  above,  and  a  scat- 
tering way  under  me.  Nary  a  Boche  sailing  over  that 
misty  sea!  My  cheeks  felt  cold,  and  having  lost  sight 
of  my  companions  (it's  much  harder  to  see  them  when 
one  is  a  little  below,  on  account  of  the  wings),  I  headed 
for  the  foothills  of  the  Vosges.    M — ,  then  smaller 


234      "LE  ROI  DE  L'AIR  EST  MORT  " 

villages  huddled  up  in  the  valley,  and  a  couple  of  little 
lakes,  like  jagged  pieces  of  jet,  in  the  green  seaweedy 
map.  Right  over  the  Ballon  d'Alsace  I  went,  it  seemed 
near,  for  I  was  sinking,  now  having  reduced  my  engine. 
Then  Ballon  de  Servance  with  its  Fort,  and  the  gentle 
green  valley  in  the  west.  Lots  of  tiny  lakes  broadcast 
in  the  wood,  and  a  winding  stream  to  F — ,  where  I 
picked  up  Z —  and  the  new  hangars  of  the  field.  Down, 
down,  with  the  uneven  throbs  of  the  motor,  the  sound 
of  the  wind  in  the  cables,  and  the  teeter  of  the  tangent 
machine  settling.  (I  was  descending  as  slowly  as  pos- 
sible, for  it  brutalizes  one  to  come  down  fast,  —  one's 
ears  and  appreciation  of  distance,  you  know).  How 
charming  the  little  creek  looked  in  the  meadow  with 
groups  of  trees  and  shrubs  so  daintily  arranged,  and  all 
inimitable  green.  A  roar  of  the  motor,  a  tour  of  the  ter- 
rain, and  two  or  three  hundred  metres  to  get  the  wind, 
and  I  scooped  on  to  the  field.  The  others  had  not  re- 
turned, but  a  printed  slip  was  handed  to  me  a  moment 
later.  Telephone  message  from  the  field  near  the  Front : 
"  Lieutenant  Thaw  et  Capitaine  Rockwell  rentres. 
Lieutenant  a  trois  eclats  d'obus  dans  son  appareil  dont 
un  dans  le  becquille  I'a  fait  ceder  en  atterissant.  Cor- 
poral Chapman  vu  au  dessus  de  M a  2800." 

May  13.  —  Yesterday  afternoon  I  went  up  above 
the  clouds,  over  the  field,  to  have  my  picture  taken  by 


VICTOR  CHAPMAN,  '13  235 

an  M.  F.  I  had  motor  trouble  in  leaving,  so  was  late 
when  I  got  up  there —  2500m.  It  was  too  late.  This 
morning  I  was  guard  with  McConnell;  weather  not 
propitious,  a  great  variety  of  clouds.  Finally  at  five 
o'clock  I  took  a  sail  for  half-an-hour.  Breakfasted. 
The  Captain  came  down  and  suggested  we  all  make  a 
tour,  save  Thaw,  whose  machine  is  still  in '  reparation ', 
the  other  side  of  B — .  We  Uned  up,  tried  our  motors, 
and  left  at  6.45.  A  circle  over  the  town,  and  off  we  go ! 
This  time  I  was  not  going  to  be  below,  so  I  did  not  try 
to  spare  my  motor,  and  easily  got  up  to  over  3700  over 
D — .  Not  seeing  the  rest  I  made  a  trip  over  the  hues 
by  A — ,  let  them  waste  some  shells  on  me,  and  came 
back  to  find  them  all.  The  Captain  in  his  silver  1 70  H. 
P.,  and  the  rest  in  theirs,  with  clouded,  green  scenery. 
It's  much  too  dark,  and  shows  up  against  the  pale  land- 
scape below.  Odd,  one  seems  to  be  travelHng  straight, 
merely  letting  the  machine  ride  easily;  but  I  noticed 
today  we  were  forever  swinging  back  and  forth.  First 
a  machine  would  be  under  one  wing  tip,  then  he  would 
float  back  and  appear  on  the  other  side.  To  get  a 
better  view,  now  and  again  I  would  list,  and  look  over 
the  cloud  banks.  There  were  more  clouds  today,  no 
Alps  visible,  but  I  saw  the  turn  in  the  Rhine,  and  its 
zig-zag  course  in  hills  beyond  B — .  A  fine  shimmer  in 
the  air  which  looked  like  silky  threads  and  took  rain- 


236      "  LE  ROI  DE  L^AIR  EST  MORT  " 

bow  colors  in  the  sun.  I  tried  to  take  a  picture  or  two 
with  my  camera  of  the  other  machines  and  a  shell  puff, 
but  the  light  was  not  good,  and  everything  is  faint.  We 
went  by  C — ,  where  the  battleworn  woods  were  smok- 
ing with  a  bombardment.  Up  the  valley  of  T — ,  then 
back  to  D — ,  and  home  by  B — .  The  bombardment 
was  very  feeble  as  compared  to  yesterday.  All  re- 
turned, and  landed  well.  McConnell,  on  his  first  trip, 
went  up  to  four  thousand  three  hundred  metres.  He 
must  have  a  fine  engine.  A  cinema  has  come  this 
afternoon  to  take  us.  Prince  and  Cowdin  returned 
from  Paris  for  the  occasion.  Now  mind  you  no 
publicity  on  this,  it  would  get  me  in  trouble. 

Your  loving 

Victor. 

On  the  morning  of  Saturday,  June  24,  1916,  Ser- 
geant Victor  Chapman,  serving  near  Verdun,  heard 
that  his  fellow-aviator,  Sergeant  Balsley,  lying 
wounded  in  a  hospital,  much  desired  some  oranges. 
With  a  basket  of  them  in  his  aeroplane.  Chapman 
set  out  on  a  mission  of  mercy  as  old  as  humanity 
itself,  albeit  attempted  in  the  most  modern  of  ve- 
hicles. As  he  flew  towards  his  friend  he  saw  in  the 
distance  what  proved  on  nearer  view  to  be  four 


VICTOR  CHAPMAN,  '13  237 

German  aeroplanes  in  conflict  with  three  from  his 
own  squadron.  Dashing  impetuous  into  the  fight 
he  brought  three  of  the  Germans  to  earth,  but 
himself  was  killed,  and  fell  within  the  German 
lines.  The  immediate  reward  of  his  sacrifice 
was  that  his  three  comrades  returned  in  safety 
to  their  camp. 

"  Poor  Victor  Chapman,"  wrote  Norman  Prince^ 
to  his  family  a  few  days  later,  "  was  lost  last  week. 
He  was  of  tremendous  assistance  to  ElHot  [Cowdin] 
and  me  in  getting  together  the  escadrille;  his  heart 
was  in  it  to  make  ours  as  good  as  any  at  the  front; 
he  was  ahnost  too  courageous  in  attacking  German 
machines  wherever  and  whenever  he  saw  them.  .  .  . 
Victor  died,  was  killed  while  attacking  an  aeroplane 
that  was  attacking  Luffberry  and  me.  Another, 
and  unaccounted  for,  German  came  and  brought 
Victor  down  while  he  was  endeavoring  to  protect 
us.  A  glorious  death,  face  a  Vennemi,  for  a  great 
cause,  and  to  save  a  friend." 

1  As  these  pages  go  to  press,  the  news  is  received  (Oct.  i6,  1916) 
that  Norman  Prince  has  been  killed  in  action  between  French  and 
German  aeroplanes.  His  gallantry  had  already  won  him  the  Croix 
de  Guerre  and  M6daille  Militaire.  On  his  deathbed,  in  a  hospital  in 
the  Vosges,  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  was  pinned  on  his  breast. 


2sS      "LE  ROI  DE  L'AIR  EST  MORT '' 

Beyond  the  immediate  reward  was  the  recogni- 
tion in  France  and  America  of  an  heroic  gift  of  Hfe, 
glowing  with  significance.  The  French  philosopher 
and  academician,  Emile  Boutroux,  declared: 

"  Non,  les  grands  interpretes  de  la  conscience 
humaine  n'ont  pas  eu  tort:  mourir,  plutot  que  de 
trahir  la  cause  du  droit  et  de  la  justice,  ce  n'est  pas 
mourir,  c'est  s'immortaliser.  Mais  ce  n'est  pas 
seulement  survivre  dans  Fimagination  de  la  pos- 
terite,  c'est  laisser  derriere  soi  une  semence  de  foi 
et  de  vertu  qui,  tot  ou  tard,  assurera  le  triomphe 
du  bien."  1 

A  Harvard  poet,  Benjamin  Apthorp  Gould,  '91, 
wrote  a  few  days  later,  these  lines  which  may  stand 
as  the  exequy  on  each  Harvard  man  who  has  given 
his  life's  blood  to  the  cause  he  has  deemed  worth 
the  offering: 

VICTOR  CHAPMAN  2 

It  is  not  true  he  died  in  France: 

His  spirit  climbs  the  serried  years, 

Victorious  over  empty  fears, 
And  proof  of  Freedom's  last  advance. 

1  From  Le  Temps,  Paris,  July  s,  1916. 

2  From  Boston  Herald,  July  17,  19 16. 


VICTOR  CHAPMAN,  '13  239 

The  handful  of  his  mortal  clay- 
May  drift  upon  a  foreign  breeze 
To  burgeon  into  flowers  and  trees 

That  make  the  diadem  of  May. 

Himself  still  lives,  and  cannot  die, 
While  freemen  shun  the  tyrant's  heel. 
While  minds  are  true  and  hearts  are  leal. 

And  men  look  upward  to  the  sky. 

Compact  of  elemental  fire 

And  heart  untouched  by  easy  fear, 

His  vision  measures  fair  and  clear 
The  worth  of  ultimate  desire. 

For  him  no  blight  of  searing  age; 

Eternal  youth  is  his  and  joy, 

The  cheerful  gladness  of  the  boy 
Shall  be  his  constant  heritage. 

Mourn  not  for  that  devoted  head; 
He  is  the  spirit  of  our  race 
Triiunphant  over  Time  and  Space  — 

He  cannot  die;  he  is  not  dead. 


THE  LIST  OF  HARVARD  MEN   IN 
THE  EUROPEAN  WAR 


THE  LIST  OF  HARVARD  MEN  IN  THE 
EUROPEAN  WAR 

Under  the  definition  "  Harvard  Surgical  Unit "  are  entered  the  members  of  the 

successive  contingents  of  the  Unit  sent  by  the  Harvard  Medical  School  to  General 

Hospital  22  of  the  British  Expeditionary  Force  in  France. 

Fred  H.  All,  G.S.  '14-15,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Louis  Allard,  Assistant  Professor  of  French;  interpreter  in 
British  Hospital  No.  8  at  Rouen. 

Benjamin  M.  Alton,  M.D.,  '14,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

A.  Piatt  Andrew,  A.M.  '95,  Ph.D.  '00,  Inspector-General, 
American  Ambulance  Service. 

Charles  L.  Appleton,  '08,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Richard  S.  Austin,  M.D.  'ii.  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

A.  AuziAS-TuREENE,  L.  '13-14,  Serving  in  British  Army. 

George  W.  Bachman,  'o8,  M.D.  '14,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

Elliot  C.  Bacon,  '10,  Red  Cross  in  Paris. 

Robert  Bacon,  '80,  Relief  Work,  and  on  Committee  of  Ameri- 
can Ambulance,  Paris. 

Charles  Baird,  Jr.,  '11,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Frederick  C.  Baker,  '12,  Cyclist  Service,  British  Army. 

Fernand  Baldensperger,  Visiting  Professor  at  Harvard,  '13- 
14,  in  31st  Corps,  French  Army. 

Raymond  P.  Baldwin,  '16,  Morgan-Harjes  Ambulance  Corps. 

E.  L.  Barron,  '13,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

A.  A.  Barrows,  M.D.  '02,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

Lyman  G.  Barton,  Jr.,  M.D.  '12,  American  Ambulance  Hos- 
pital Unit. 

J.   F.  Bass,   '91,  War  Correspondent  with  Russian  Army, 
wounded  in  Poland. 

243 


244        HARVARD  MEN  IN  THE  WAR 

BoYLSTON  A.  Beal,  '86,  Staff  of  American  Embassies,  Berlin 
and  London. 

Howard  W.  Beal,  M.D.  '98,  Chief  Surgeon,  American  Wo- 
men's War  Hospital,  Paignton,  England. 

Edward  Bell,  '04,  American  Embassy,  London. 

George  Benet,  M.D.  '13,  American  Ambulance  Hospital, 
Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

Braxton  Bigelow,  '09,  2d  Lieutenant,  Field  Artillery,  British 
Army. 

Stephen  S.  Bigelow,  '15,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

WiLLLAM  De  F.  Bigelow,  '00,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

M.  H.  BiRCKHEAD,  '02,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Percy  A.  Blair,  '06,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Robert  W.  Bliss,  'go,  ist  Secretary  of  American  Embassy, 
Paris. 

John  E.  Boit,  '12,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Walter  M.  Boothby,  '02,  M.D.  '06,  American  Ambulance 
Hospital  Unit. 

Russell  P.  Borden,  M.D.  '15,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

John  L.  Bremer,  '96,  M.D.  '01,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

C.  W.  Bressler,  sM.  '14-15,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

George  E.  Brewer,  M.D.  '85,  Hospital  Work  at  Juilly,  France. 

Ferdinand  Brigham,  D.M.D.  '15,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit, 
Dental  Department. 

Carlton  T.  Brodrick,  '08,  Belgian  Relief  Commission, 
drowned  in  sinking  of  Lusitania. 

L.  Brokenshire,  '16,  with  4th  Brigade,  Canadian  Troops. 

G.  C.  Broome,  L.  '85-86,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

John  F.  Brown,  Jr.,  '18,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

John  Paulding  Brown,  '14,  American  Citizens'  Relief  Com- 
mittee, London;  American  Ambulance  Service. 

J.  W.  Brown,  '17,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Thomas  B.  Buffum,  '16,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Henry  A.  Bunker,  '10,  with  Dr.  Strong  in  Serbia. 


HARVARD  MEN  IN  THE  WAR        245 

Benjamin  P.  Burpee,  M.D.  '14,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

Carleton  Burr,  '13,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Roger  A.  Burr,  '04,  Work  for  Relief  of  Prisoners  in  Siberia 

under  the  American  Red  Cross  and  the  American  Embassy 

in  Petrograd. 
Alfred  T.  Burri,  '18,  Y.M.C.A.  Army  Hut  Work 
Caspar  H.  Burton,  Jr.,  '09,  enUsted  under  Red  Cross  in  British 

Army. 
Charles  S.  Butler,  '93,  M.D.  '98,  Hospital  Work  at  Fort 

Mahon,  France. 
F.  W.  Butler-Thwing,  '13,  2d  Lieutenant,  5th  Royal  Irish 

Lancers. 
H.  G.  Byng,  '13,  Private  in  London  Artists'  Rijfles;   2d  Lieu- 
tenant in  2d  Border  Regiment;  killed  near  Festubert. 
Hugh  Cabot,  '94,  M.D.  '98,  Chief  Surgeon,  Harvard  Surgical 

Unit. 
Frederick  J.  Caldwell,  D.M.D.  '14,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 
David  Carb,  '09,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
A.  G.  Carey,  '14,  American  Ambulance  Service,  received  Croix 

de  Guerre, 
H.  R.  Carey,  '13,  American  Embassy,  Paris. 
Charles  Carroll,  '87,  with  Robert  Bacon  helped  organize 

American  Ambulance  Hospital. 
P.  A.  Carroll,  '02,  Inspector  for  American  Ambulance  Hospi- 
tal, Paris. 
J.  S.  Carstairs,  'ii.  Foreign  Legion,  French  Army. 
Edward  C.  Carter,  '00,  Y.M.C.A.  Army  Hut  Work. 
Philip  T.  Cate,  '15,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
R.  S.  Catheron,  D.M.D.  '05,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 
Andre  C.   Champollion,   '02,  in  French  Army;    killed  in 

trenches  at  Bois-le-Pretre,  France. 
Victor  E.   Chapman,   '13,   Foreign  Legion,   French  Army, 

wounded;     French   Aviation    Service,    Medaille    Militaire; 

Croix  de  Guerre;  killed  in  action  at  Verdim,  June  23,  19x6. 


246        HARVARD  MEN  IN  THE  WAR 

David  Cheever,  '97,  M.D.  '01,  Chief  Surgeon,  Harvard  Surgi- 
cal Unit. 

Oswald  Chew,  '03,  Commission  for  Relief  in  Belgium. 

J.  R.  Childs,  A.m.  '15,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Allen  M.  Cleghorn,  Assistant  in  Physiology,  Harvard  Medi- 
cal School,  '98-00;  Captain  in  Royal  Army  Medical  Corps; 
died  in  England  after  brief  illness. 

J.  S.  Cochrane,  'go,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

C.  R.  CoDMAN,  2d,  '15,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
George  R.  Cogswell,  '18,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
Henry  Augustus  Coit,  '10,  Private  5th  Battalion,  Princess 

Patricia's  Regiment,  Canadian  Volunteers;  died,  August  7, 
19 1 6,  of  injuries  received  at  front  in  France. 

F.  T.  Colby,  '05,  American  Ambulance  Service,  Lieutenant  in 
Belgian  Army,  mentioned  for  bravery. 

F.  A.  CoLLER,  M.D.  '12,  American  Ambulance  Hospital  Unit; 
later  at  American  Women's  War  Hospital,  Paignton,  England. 

John  G.  Coolidge,  '84,  American  Embassy,  Paris. 

E.  C.  CoWDiN,  2d,  '09,  American  Ambulance  Service;  attached 
to  Belgian  Cavalry  in  Belgium;  Sergeant  in  French  Aviation 
Service;  received  Croix  de  Guerre;  first  American  to  receive 
the  Medaille  Militaire;  decorated  for  valor  and  aerial  effici- 
ency displayed  in  bringing  to  earth  his  third  enemy  aero- 
plane. 

WiLLL/y^  D.  Crane,  '16,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Benjamin  T.  Creden,  '99,  Corporal,  ist  Overseas  Battalion, 
Canadian  Expeditionary  Force. 

D.  R.  W.  Crile,  M.  '15-16,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 
George  H.  Crocker,  Jr.,  '17,  Morgan-Harjes  Ambulance  Ser- 
vice; injured  on  the  Sussex. 

C.  R.  Cross,  Jr.,  '03,  American  Distributing  Service;  killed  in 

motor  accident  in  France,  October,  1915. 
Bronson  Crothers,  '05,  M.D.  '10,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 
Lawrence  B.  Cummings,  '03,  American  Ambulance  Service. 


HARVARD  MEN  IN  THE  WAR        247 

E.  J.  CuRLEY,  '04,  American  Ambulance  Service,  received  Croix 
de  Guerre. 

Brian  C.  Ctjrtis,  '15,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

E.  D.  Curtis,  '14,  American  Relief  Committee  in  Belgium. 

Frazeer  Curtis,  '98,  organized  American  Squadron,  French 
Aviation  Service,  with  Norman  Prince,  '08. 

Laurence  Curtis,  2d,  '16,  American  Embassy,  Paris. 

Harvey  Cushing,  M.D.  '95,  Chief  Surgeon,  American  Ambu- 
lance Hospital  Unit. 

Frank  H,  Cushman,  D.M.D.  '15,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

Elliott  C.  Cutler,  '09,  M.D.  '13,  American  Ambulance  Hos- 
pital Unit. 

Paul  Dana,  '74,  Relief  Work  in  Belgium. 

Fritz  Daur,  S.T.M.  '14,  killed  fighting  in  German  Army  in 
Flanders,  November,  1914. 

Charles  C.  Davis,  '01,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

C.  W.  Day,  G.S.  '12-14,  Lieutenant  in  Canadian  Expeditionary 
Force,  14th  Princess  of  Wales  Own  Rifles;  killed  fighting  at 
Ypres. 

George  P.  Denny,  '09,  M.D.  '13,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

Richard  Derby,  '03,  M.D.  (Columbia)  '07,  American  Ambu- 
lance Hospital,  Paris. 

Edward  S.  Dillon,  M.D.  '16,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

John  F.  Dillon,  D.M.D.  '15,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

W.  J.  DoDD,  M.  '00-01,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

H.  P.  Dodge,  '92,  American  Embassy,  Paris. 

J.  I.  H.  Downes,  G.S.  '12-15,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

E.  T.  Drake,  Jr.,  '16,  Morgan-Harjes  Ambulance  Service. 

W.  P.  Draper,  '13,  2d  Lieutenant,  R.F.A.,  British  Expedition- 
ary Force. 

Ellis  L.  Dresel,  '87,  American  Embassy,  Berlin. 

E.  J.  A.  DuQUESNE,  Professor  of  Architectural  Design;  Red 
Cross  Work  in  Paris,  as  reservist  subject  to  call. 

Charles  B.  Dyar,  '06,  American  Embassy,  Berlin. 


248        HARVARD  MEN  IN  THE  WAR 

G.  H.  Edgell,  '09,  American  Embassy,  London. 

Theodore  H.  Ellis,  '04,  Lieutenant,  8th  Loyal  North  Lan- 
cashire Regiment. 

Edwin  Emerson,  '91,  War  Correspondent. 

William  K.  B.  Emerson,  '16,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Robert  Emmet,  '93,  Major  in  Warwickshire  Territorials;  has 
become  British  citizen. 

Richard  T.  Evans,  '06,  American  Red  Cross  Committee  in 
China  for  the  Relief  of  Prisoners  of  War  in  Siberia. 

John  S.  Farlow,  '02,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

H.  W.  Farnsworth,  '12,  Foreign  Legion,  French  Army,  killed 
at  Tahure  in  autumn  of  191 5. 

J.  F.  Faulkner,  M.D.  '13,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

W.  E.  Faulkner,  '87,  M.D.  '91,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

S.  P.  Fay,  '07,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

William  P,  Fay,  '15,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

RoADES  Fayerweather,  '99,  M.D.  (Johns  Hopkins)  '03,  Head 
of  Unit  on  Red  Cross  Hospital  Ship;  later  in  France. 

Henry  0.  Feiss,  '98,  M.D.  '02,  Assistant  to  Dr.  Du  Bouchet, 
American  Ambulance  Hospital,  Paris. 

Robert  L.  Fellmann,  G.S.  '13-14,  Lieutenant  in  French  Army. 

O.  D.  FiLLEY,  '06,  American  Ambulance  Service,  in  Charge  of 
Unit;  Lieutenant  and  Captain  in  British  Air  Service,  received 
the  MiUtary  Cross  for  gallantry. 

Charles  H.  Fiske,  3d,  '19,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

C.  Stewart  Forbes,  '00,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Gerrit  Forbes,  '04,  British  Flying  Corps,  operating  in  Africa. 

Henry  S.  Forbes,  '05,  M.D.  '11,  with  Red  Cross  Sanitary  Com- 
mission in  Serbia. 

J.  Grant  Forbes,  '01,  "  Counsellor  "  for  War  Relief  Commis- 
sion, Rockefeller  Foundation. 

Thomas  A.  Foster,  M.D.  '14,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

Reginald  C.  Foster,  'ii.  Member  of  Staff,  War  Relief  Com- 
mission, Rockefeller  Foimdation. 


HARVARD  MEN  IN  THE  WAR        249 

Arnold  Fraser-Campbell,  '08,  Captain,  Second  Argyll  and 
Highland  Regiment. 

Harold  M.  Frost,  M.  '09-13,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

C.  F.  Frothingham,  Jr.,  '11,  American  Embassy,  London. 

Benjamin  A.  G.  Fuller,  '00,  American  Embassy,  London. 

Gerald  F.  Furlong,  'go,  with  a  Canadian  Regiment  in  Europe. 

F.  R.  Furness,  '12,  caring  for  wounded  Russian  soldiers  at 
Petrograd. 

James  C.  Fyshe,  '99,  M.D.  (McGill)  '04,  went  to  England  with 
I  St  Canadian  Contingent  as  Surgeon  with  rank  of  Captain; 
transferred  to  Army  Medical  Corps. 

John  P.  Galatti,  '09,  American  Embassy,  London. 

Stephen  Galatti,  '10,  American  Embassy,  London;  American 
Ambulance  Service,  received  Croix  de  Guerre. 

A.  J.  Gallishaw,  ^C.  '14-16,  service  with  Newfoimdland  Regi- 
ment at  Gallipoli. 

Joseph  W.  Ganson,  '92,  Foreign  Legion,  French  Army. 

DoANE  Gardiner,  '07,  ist  Lieutenant,  3d  Reserves,  3d  Bat- 
talion, City  of  London  Regiment  of  Royal  Fusiliers. 

Gordon  Gardiner,  S.S.  '05,  Captain,  K.O.S.B.;  Major,  Chief 
Intelligence  Officer,  Scottish  Command. 

A.  P.  Gardner,  '86,  helped  organize  and  direct  volunteer 
corps  of  assistants  at  American  Embassy  in  London  in  caring 
for  stranded  Americans. 

Merrill  Gaunt,  And.  '14-16,  died,  April,  1916,  of  cerebro- 
spinal meningitis  while  in  Morgan-Harjes  Ambulance  Service. 

H.  M.  Goodwin,  M.D.  '13,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

Pierre  Alexandre  Gouvy,  C.  '11-12,  G.B.  '12-13,  Lieutenant, 
French  Field  Artillery;  wounded. 

Harold  S.  Gray,  '18,  Y.M.C.A.  Army  Hut  Work. 

R.  H.  Greeley,  '01,  in  service  in  mihtary  hospital,  Houlgate, 
France;  Director,  American  Distributing  Service;  injured  in 
motor  accident,  October,  191 5;  received  Cross  of  Legion  of 
Honor. 


250        HARVARD  MEN  IN  THE  WAR 

E.  G.  Greene,  'ii,  American  Embassy,  London. 

Henry  Copley  Greene,  '94,  French  Wounded  Emergency- 
Fund. 

QuiNCY  S.  Greene,  '13,  American  Embassy,  London;  Lieu- 
tenant, Coldstream  Guards,  British  Army. 

Warwick  Greene,  '01,  War  ReHef  Commission,  Rockefeller 
Foundation. 

C.  Greenough,  '04,  aided  in  equipping  hospitals  in  Paris. 

Robert  B.  Greenough,  '92,  M.D.  '96,  American  Ambulance 
Hospital  Unit,  Executive  Officer. 

Allen  Greenwood,  M.D.  '89,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

W.  T.  Grenfell,  A.m.  (Hon.)  '09,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

J.  C.  Grew,  '02,  ist  Secretary,  American  Embassy,  Berlin. 

F.  B.  Grinnell,  '09,  M.D.  '13,  with  Dr.  Strong  in  Serbia. 
Roger  Griswold,  '14,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
Alexander  H.  Gunn,  'ii,  American  Volunteer  Ambulance 

Corps  of  French  Army. 
F.  M.  Gunther,  '07,  American  Embassy,  London. 
Paul  Gustafson,  '12,  M.D.  '16,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 
Gardner  Hale,  '15,  American  Ambulance  Service,  in  charge 

of  Division. 
H.  D.  Hale,  '14,  American  Ambulance  Service,  received  Croix 

de  Guerre. 
Louis  P.  Hall,  G.S.  '13-15,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
John  W.  Hammond,  Jr.,  M.D.  '12,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 
Lyman  S.  Hapgood,  '97,  M.D.  '01,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 
Edward  Harding,  'ii,  M.D.  '16,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 
Henry  Knox  Hardon,  '12,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
Oliver  B.  Harriman,  '09,  2d  Secretary,  American  Embassy, 

Berlin. 
William  C.  Harrington,  '16,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
H.  F.  Hartwell,  '95,  M.D.  '98,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 
Lionel  de  Jersey  Harvard,  '15,  Lieutenant  in  Grenadier 

Guards,  British  Army. 


HARVARD  MEN  IN  THE  WAR        251 

Harold  W.  Haserick,  '17,  2d  Lieutenant,  4th  Essex  Regiment. 

George  H.  Hazlehurst,  M.C.E.  '13,  with  Dr.  Strong  in 
Serbia. 

Lawrence  Hemenway,  '15,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Alexander  I.  Henderson,  '13,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Morton  J.  Henry,  L.  '88-91,  Major,  U.S.A.;  American  Em- 
bassy, Paris. 

John  A.  Herbert,  '18,  left  College  to  receive  commission  in 
England. 

C.  HiGGiNSON,  '17,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Lawrence  R.  Hill,  M.D.  '07,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

Lovering  Hill,  '10,  American  Ambulance  Service,  received 
Croix  de  Guerre;  three  times  cited  for  bravery. 

Robert  W.  Hinds,  '05,  M.D.  '10,  one  of  five  surgeons  in  charge 
of  units  on  S.S.  Red  Cross;  assisting  at  Hasslor  Royal  Naval 
Hospital,  near  Portsmouth;  also  at  American  Women's  War 
Hospital  at  Paignton,  England. 

Joseph  P.  Hoguet,  '04,  M.D.  (Columbia)  '07,  American  Ambu- 
lance Hospital. 

G.  M.  Hollister,  '18,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Carlyle  H.  Holt,  '12,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Samuel  A.  Hopkins,  M.D.  (CoU.  Phys.  and  Surg.,  Columbia) 
'80,  Instructor  in  Dental  Pathology,  Harvard  Dental  School, 
'06-09;  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

Ronald  W.  Hoskier,  '18,  left  College  to  receive  commission  in 
England. 

Herbert  H.  Howard,  M.D.  '12,  American  Women's  War 
Hospital,  Paignton,  England. 

Sidney  C.  Howard,  G.S.  '15-16,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Gardener  G.  Hubbard,  '00,  American  Ambulance  Service; 
Lieutenant,  British  Aviation  Corps. 

Edward  E.  Hunt,  '10,  War  Correspondent,  Relief  Work  in 
Belgium. 

William  E.  Hunter,  sM.  '13-15,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 


252        HARVARD  MEN  IN  THE  WAR 

Nathaniel  S.  Hunting,  '84,  M.D.  '89,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 
James  P.  Hutchinson,  '90,  M.D.  (Univ.  of  Pa.)  '93,  American 

Ambulance  Hospital,  Paris. 
DwiGHT  H.  Ingram,  '16,  Y.M.C.A.  Army  Hut  Work. 
John  S.  Irvin,  '08,  M.D.  (Columbia)  '12,  Resident  Surgeon, 

French  Hospital,  Passy. 
W.  O'D.  IsELiN,  '05,  helped  organize  American  Ambulance 

Hospital;  also  assisted  in  American  Embassy,  Paris. 
George  S.  Jackson,  '05,  Relief  Work  in  Belgium. 
Robert  A.  Jackson,  '99,  Relief  Work  in  Belgium. 
Leslie  P.  Jacobs,  '17,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
Henry  James,  Jr.,  '99,  War  Relief  Commission,  Rockefeller 

Foundation. 
Francis  Jaques,  '03,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
Augustus  Jay,  'go,  ist  Secretary,  American  Embassy,  Rome. 
Allyn  R.  Jennings,  sG.S.  '14-15,  Amer.  Ambulance  Service. 
William  B.  Johnston,  '97,  M.D.  (Johns  Hopkins)   '01,  in 

charge  of  small  hospital  in  France. 
Daniel  Fiske  Jones,  '92,  M.D.  '96,  Chief  Surgeon,  Harvard 

Surgical  Unit. 
V.  K.  KAZANJLA.N.  D.M.D.  '05,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 
W.  W.  Kent,  '16,  Secretary,  American  Citizens'  Rehef  Com- 
mittee, London. 
Day  Kimball,  '15,  American  Embassy,  Paris. 
David  W.  King,  '16,  Foreign  Legion,  French  Army. 
Lucius  C.  Kingman,  M.D.  '04,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 
Abraham  Krachmalnikoff,  '16,  service  in  Russian  Army. 
P.  B.  Kurtz,  '16,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
Walter  M.  Lacey,  M.D.  '12,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 
Walter  A.  Lane,  M.D.  '99,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 
Charles  N.  Lathrop,  '96,  ReHef  Work  in  Belgium. 
J.  L.  Lathrop,  '18,  Morgan-Harjes  Ambulance  Service. 
Richard  Lawrence,  '02,  American  Ambulance  Service,  formed 

first  motor-ambulance  section  sent  to  front. 


HARVARD  MEN  IN  THE  WAR        253 

Peirce  H.  Leavitt,  '10,  M.D.  '14,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

Roger  I.  Lee,  '02,  M.D.  '05,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

Louis  V.  LeMoyne,  '84,  ReKef  Work  in  Belgium. 

D.  W.  Lewis,  '14,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

P.  C.  Lewis,  '17,  American  Ambulance  Service,  received  Croix 

de  Guerre. 
Howard  B.  Lines,  LL.B.  '15,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
Robert  Littell,  '18,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
Walter  Lovell,  '07,  American  Ambulance  Service,  received 

Croix  de  Guerre;  joined  French  Aviation  Corps. 

C.  T.  LovERiNG,  Jr.,  '02,  American  Ambulance  Service,  suc- 
ceeded Filley,  '06,  in  command  of  motor-ambulance  section. 

Alfred  Luger,  Assistant  in  Medical  School,  '13-14;  attached 
to  Medical  Corps,  Austrian  Army. 

Fred  B.  Lund,  '88,  M.D.  '92,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

George  H.  Lyman,  '16,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

J.  0.  Lyman,  '06,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Charles  F.  McDonald,  Jr.,  D. M.D. '10,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

WiLBERT  LoRNE  MacDonald,  Ph.D.  'i2,  Canadian  Expedi- 
tionary Force. 

D.  D.  L.  McGrew,  '03,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
Francis  P.  Magoun,  Jr.,  '16,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
Harold  Marion-Crawford,  'n,  2d  Lieutenant,  Irish  Guards, 

killed  at  Givenchy. 
Austin  B.  Mason,  '08,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
Clyde  Fairbanks  Maxwell,  '14,  Lieutenant,  loth  Battalion, 

Essex  Infantry;  killed  in  action  on  the  Somme,  July  3,  1916. 
Hans  F.  Mayer,  G.S.  '12-13,  Volunteer  with  German  Army  in 

France. 
John  Melcher,  '17,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
J.  M.  Mellen,  '17,  American  Ambulance  Service,  received 

Croix  de  Guerre. 
L.  J.  A.  Mercier,  Instructor  in  French;  Chief  Interpreter  at 

Le  Mans,  France. 


254        HARVARD  MEN  IN  THE  WAR 

R.  B.  Mekriman,  '96,  American  Embassy,  London. 

Ernest  N.  Mekmngton,  Ph.D.  '05,  Senior  Chaplain  to  New 
Zealand  and  Austrahan  Division  at  Anzac,  GallipoK,  and  in 
Egypt. 

Edward  P.  Merritt,  '82,  Hospital  Work  at  Aix-les-Bains. 

Chalmers  Jack  Mersereau,  A.M.  '09,  Artillery  Major, 
Canadian  Expeditionary  Force,  seriously  wounded. 

Carleton  Ray  Metcalf,  '02,  M.D.  '06,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

H.  H.  Metcalf,  '17,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Philip  O.  Mills,  '05,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

G.  W.  MiNOT,  '15,  Attache,  American  Embassy,  BerHn. 

Clarence  V.  S.  Mitchell,  L.  '13-14,  Ambulance  Service  in 
France. 

W.  Jason  Mixter,  M.D.  '06,  American  Hospital,  Paris. 

Orlando  F.  Montgomery,  M.  '10-14,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

John  C.  B.  Moore,  '18,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

R.  L.  Moore,  '18,  Morgan-Harjes  Ambulance  Service. 

Charles  D.  Morgan,  '06,  American  Ambulance  Service,  Lieu- 
tenant, R.F.A.,  British  Army;  wounded;  awarded  the  Mili- 
tary Cross. 

Stokeley  W.  Morgan,  '16,  American  Embassy,  London. 

W.  R  Morrison,  '10,  M.D.,  '13,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

Philip  R.  Morss,  '17,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Harris  P.  Mosher,  '92,  M.D.  '96,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

Robert  T.  W.  Moss,  '94,  American  Ambulance  Service  in 
France;  resigned  in  order  to  help  in  Serbia. 

Alexander  D.  Muir,  G.S.  '12-15,  2d  Lieutenant,  Black  Watch, 
British  Army. 

Ector  O.  Munn,  '14,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

GuRNEE  Munn,  'ii,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

John  Munroe,  '13,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Fred  T.  Murphy,  M.D.  '01,  Amer.  Ambulance  Hospital,  Paris. 

J.  Tucker  Murray,  '99,  Captain,  2d  Reserve  BattaHon,  Duke 
of  WeUington's  Regiment. 


HARVARD  MEN  IN  THE  WAR        255 

Henry  L.  Nash,  '16,  Y.M.C.A.  Army  Hut  Work. 

A.  F.  Newell,  And.  '14-16,  Y.M.C.A.  Army  Hut  Work. 

Edward  H.  Nichols,  'S6,  M.D.  '92,  Chief  Surgeon,  Harvard 
Surgical  Unit. 

Sir  Henry  Norman,  '81,  Managing  Red  Cross  Hospital,  organ- 
ized and  equipped  by  his  wife  and  himself. 

Richard  Norton,  '92,  organized  and  in  active  charge  of  Ameri- 
can Volunteer  Motor  Ambulance  Corps,  awarded  Croix  de 
Guerre. 

W.  G.  Oakman,  Jr.,  '07,  joined  English  Army,  drove  armored 
motors  with  British  Expeditionary  Force  in  Dardanelles;  Lieu- 
tenant, 2d  Battahon,  Coldstream  Guards;  wounded  in  France. 

J.  R.  Oliver,  '94,  Head  Physician,  Military  Garrison  Hospital, 
Innsbruck,  14th  Division,  Austrian  Army. 

Thomas  Edward  Oliver,  '93,  Belgian  Relief  Commission, 
France  and  Brussels. 

LiTHGOW  Osborne,  '15,  American  Embassy,  Berlin. 

George  Osgood,  M.D.  '05,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

Robert  B.  Osgood,  M.D.  '99,  American  Ambulance  Hospital 
Unit. 

George  B.  Packard,  Jr.,  M.D.  '14,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

Henry  B.  Palmer,  '10,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Harrison  L.  Parker,  D.M.D.  '13,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

DiLLWYN  Parrish,  'i8,  Morgan-Harjes  Ambulance  Service. 

W.  Barclay  Parsons,  Jr.,  '10,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

J.  G.  D'A.  Paul,  '08,  American  Embassy,  Paris  and  Bordeaux. 

Charles  W.  Peabody,  '12,  M.D.  '16,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

Waldo  Peirce,  '07,  American  Ambulance  Service;  received 
Croix  de  Guerre. 

Robert  E.  Pellissier,  '04,  Sergeant,  Chasseurs  Alpins,  French 
Army;  killed  in  action  on  the  Somme,  August  29,  1916. 

DuNLAP  Pearce  Penhallow,  '03,  M.D.  '06,  Chief  Surgeon, 
American  Women's  War  Hospital,  Paignton,  England, 
1915-16. 


256        HARVARD  MEN  IN  THE  WAR 

J.  R.  0.  Perkins,  '14,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Sir  George  H.  Perley,  '78,  Acting  High  Commissioner  and 
High  Commissioner  for  Canada  in  London. 

John  K.  T.  Philips,  '17,  Morgan-Harjes  Ambulance  Service. 

John  C.  Phillips,  '99,  M.D.,  '04,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

Edward  M.  Pickman,  '08,  American  Embassy,  Paris. 

George  B.  Pierce,  '93,  M.D.  '98,  French  Hospital  Service  at 
Fort  Mahon. 

Thomas  R.  Plummer,  '84,  American  Embassy,  Paris. 

Charles  A.  Porter,  '88,  M.D.  '92,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

Regis  H.  Post,  '91,  American  Ambulance  Service,  Adjutant  of 
Ambulance  Staff. 

William  H.  Potter,  '78,  D.M.D.  '85,  Dental  Surgeon  in  Am- 
erican Ambulance  Hospital,  Paris. 

H.  H.  PowEL,  '14,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Norman  Prince,  '08,  organized  American  Squadron,  French 
Aviation  Service,  with  Frazier  Curtis,  '98;  received  Croix  de 
Guerre  and  Medaille  Militaire;  killed  in  France,  October,  1916. 

T.  J.  Putnam,  '15,  American  Ambulance  Service,  received 
Croix  de  Guerre. 

WiNTHROP  Pyemont,  L.  '13-14,  Serving  in  British  Army. 

Alexander  Quackenboss,  M.D.  '92,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

W.  K.  Rainsford,  '04,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Wayne  S.  Ramsey,  M.D.  '12,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

Daniel  B.  Reardon,  M.D.  '03,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

John  S.  Reed,  '10,  War  Correspondent. 

Philip  S.  Reed,  '05,  American  Ambulance  Hospital,  Paris. 

Philip  N.  Rhinelander,  '18,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

A.  Hamilton  Rice,  '98,  M.D.  '04,  Surgical  Work  in  Paris 
Hospitals. 

DuRANT  Rice,  '12,  American  Ambulance  Service,  received  Croix 
de  Guerre. 

Paul  M.  Rice,  '15,  assisted  American  Citizens'  Relief  Com- 
mittee, London. 


HARVARD  MEN  IN  THE  WAR        257 

Ernest  T.  F.  Richards,  M.D.  (McGill)  '05,  Assistant  in  Neuro- 
pathology, '07-11;  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 
Edward  P.  Richardson,  '02,  M.D.   '06,  Harvard  Surgical 

Unit. 
N.  Thayer  Robb,  '93,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
Simon  P.  Robineau,  L.  '09-12,  serving  in  French  Army. 
Carl  Merrill  Robinson,  M.D.  'ii,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 
Phillips  B.  Robinson,  '03,  Volunteer  in  Preparing  Passports 

on  Staff  of  American  Embassy,  London;  joined  British  Red 

Cross  Corps  as  Volunteer  Ambulance  chauffeur  for  service 

in  France. 
Orville  F.  Rogers,  Jr.,  '08,  M.D.  '12,  American  Ambulance 

Hospital  Unit. 
Nicholas  Roosevelt,  '14,  American  Embassy,  Paris. 
Oliver  W.  Roosevelt,  '12,  Volunteer  Service  in  the  Cantine 

de  la  Gare  du  Nord,  caring  for  French  and  Belgians. 
Arthur  B.  Ruhl,  '99,  War  Correspondent. 
Laurence  Rumsey,  '08,  American  Ambulance  Service;  French 

Aviation  Service. 
Charles  H.  Russell,  Jr.,  '15,  American  Embassy,  BerHn. 
Daniel  Sargent,  '13,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
Robert  R.  Sattler,  M.  '18,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 
Theodore  R.  Schoonmaker,  '12,  with  Dr.  Strong  in  Serbia. 
Alan  Seeger,  '10,  Foreign  Legion,  French  Army;  killed,  July, 

1916. 
A.  W.  Sellards,  Associate  in  Tropical  Medicine;  with  Dr. 

Strong  in  Serbia. 
Henry  Seton,  '17,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
William  L.  Shannon,  sM.  '13-14,  Captain  in  Field  Ambulance 

Service  saiHng  from  Canada. 
George  C.  Shattuck,  '01,  M.D.  '05,  with  Dr.  Strong  in  Serbia; 

Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 
Vernon  Shaw-Kennedy,   '16,   3d   Coldstream   Guards,    ist 

Guards  Brigade,  British  Expeditionary  Force,  France. 


258        HARVARD  MEN  IN  THE  WAR 

George  Maurice  Sheahan,  '02,  M.D.  '07,  Harvard  Surgical 

Unit. 
Henry  B.  Sheahan,  '09,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
William  C.  Sheffield,  M.  '18,  with  Dr.  Strong  in  Serbia. 
Charles  W.  Short,  Jr.,  '08,  Assistant  Secretary,  American  Em- 
bassy, London;    Director,  Harvard  Club  of  London  War 

Relief  Fund. 
Channing  C.  Simmons,  M.D.  '99,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 
H.  R.  Deighton  Simpson,  '18,  2d  Lieutenant,  6th  Dragoons; 

Royal  Flying  Corps,  British  Army,  mentioned  for  gallant  and 

distinguished  services  in  the  field  by  Field  Marshal  Sir  John 

French. 
Richard  H.  Simpson,  A.M.  '12,  ReHef  Work  in  Belgium. 
William  A.  Slater,  '14,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
James  H.  Smith,  Jr.,  '02,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
Jeremiah  Smith,  Jr.,  '92,  War  Relief  Commission,  Rockefeller 

Foundation. 
J.  Robinson  Smith,  G.S.  '99-00,  Relief  Work  in  Belgium. 
Marius  N.  Smith-Petersen,  M.D.  '14,  American  Ambulance 

Hospital  Unit. 
Frank  W.  Snow,  M.D.  '02,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 
Edward  C.  Sortwell,  'ii,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
Richard  B.  Southgate,  '15,  in  Bank  of  American  Citizens' 

Association  in  Berne,  Switzerland. 
Isaac  C.  Spicer,  LL.B.  '13,  joined  Ammunition  Corps  at  Fred- 

ericton,  N.B. 
Charles  B.  Spruit,  M.D.  '15,  with  Dr.  Strong  in  Serbia. 
John  J.  Stack,  M.D.  '07,  with  Dr.  Strong  in  Serbia. 
E.  Birney  Stackpole,  G.S.  '00-01,  Princess  Patricia  Regiment 

of  Canada. 
T.  Harwood  Stacy,  L.  '11-12,  Relief  Work  in  Belgium. 
Horace  B.  Stanton,  'go.  Secretary,  American  Distributing 

Service  in  France. 


HARVARD  MEN  IN  THE  WAR        259 

DiLLWYN  P.  Starr,  '08,  served  in  France  as  member  of  Ameri- 
can Volunteer  Motor-Ambulance  Corps  of  London;  drove 
armored  motors  with  British  Expeditionary  Force  in  the 
Dardanelles;  Lieutenant,  2d  Battalion,  Coldstream  Guards; 
killed  in  action  in  France,  September  15,  1916. 

Roland  W.  Stebbins,  '03,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Frederick  A.  Sterling,  '98,  American  Embassy  at  Petrograd, 
special  work  with  Austrian  and  German  prisoners. 

Harold  W.  Stevens,  M.  '09-10,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

Joseph  H.  Stevenson,  '09,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Edward  M.  Stone,  '08,  Foreign  Legion,  French  Army,  Ma- 
chine Gun  Section;  died  from  wounds  in  military  hospital  at 
Romilly,  France. 

Byron  P.  Stookey,  M.D.  '13,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

A.  Gale  Straw,  M.D.  '90,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

Richard  P.  Strong,  Professor  of  Tropical  Medicine;  Ameri- 
can Ambulance  Hospital  Unit,  in  charge  of  Red  Cross  work 
against  tjqphus  in  Serbia. 

Frank  Stuhl,  D.M.D.  '05,  American  Ambulance  Hospital, 
Paris. 

Henry  M.  Suckley,  '10,  American  Ambulance  Service,  received 
Croix  de  Guerre. 

William  M.  Sullivan,  L.  '13-14,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

F.  C.  de  Sumichrast,  Associate  Professor  of  French,  Emeritus; 
Captain,  EaHng  and  Hanwell  Battahon,  loth  Middlesex 
Regiment,  National  Reserve. 

Louis  A.  Sussdorff,  '10,  American  Embassy,  Paris. 

Arthur  Sweetser,  'ii.  War  Correspondent. 

Charles  W.  Taintor,  2d,  '18,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

George  F.  Talbot,  '16,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Melvin  F.  Talbot,  '16,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

George  S.  Taylor,  '08,  attached  to  a  French  Hospital. 

Harold  W.  V.  Temperley,  Lecturer  on  History,  '11-12;  Lieu- 
tenant in  Fife  and  Forfar  Yeomanry,  British  Army. 


26o       HARVARD  MEN  IN  THE  WAR 

John  Jenks  Thomas,  A.M.  and  M.D.  '90,  Harvard  Surgical 

Unit. 
Paul  Tison,  '18,  Morgan-Harjes  Ambulance  Service. 
Harold  G.  Tobey,  M.D.  '11,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 
Edward  B.  Towne,  '06,  M.D.  '13,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 
James  C.  Trumbull,  '12,  Assistant  to  Eliot  Wadsworth,  '98, 

in  Work  with  War  Relief  Commission,  Rockefeller  Founda- 
tion. 
Percy  R.  Turnure,  '94,  M.D.  (Columbia)  '98,  Chateau  Passy 

Hospital,  near  Sens,  France. 
Abram  L.  Van  Meter,  M.D.  '13,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 
John  B.  Van  Schaick,  L.  '88-89,  Relief  Work  in  Belgium. 
RuFUS  A.  Van  Voast,  M.D.  '06,  Assistant  to  Dr.  Martin  in 

Foreign  Legion,  French  Army. 
Henry  R.  Viets,  Jr.,  M.D.  '16,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 
Beth  Vincent,  '98,  M.D.  '02,  American  Ambulance  Hospital 

Unit. 
Robert  H.  Vose,  M.D.  '96,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 
Eliot  Wadsworth,  '98,  War  Relief  Commission,  Rockefeller 

Foundation. 
Horace  S.  Waite,  '09,  Chauffeur  for  EngUsh  Expeditionary 

Force  in  Northern  France. 
Francis  Cox  Walker,  '94,  Lieutenant,  3d  Regiment,  Canadian 

Garrison  Artillery. 
John  M.  Walker,  'ii,  American  Ambulance  Service,  received 

Croix  de  Guerre. 
Joseph  Walker,  LL.B.  '90,  Chairman  of  Sub-Committee  on 

Transportation;  later  Chairman  of  Lucerne-American  Relief 

Committee. 
Richard  C.  Ware,  '04,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
Paul  B.  Watson,  Jr.,  '15,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
William  B.  Webster,  Jr.,  'n,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
Reginald  H.  Weller,  'ii,  American  Ambulance  Service. 
Harold  F.  Weston,  '16,  Y.M.C.A.  Army  Hut  Work. 


HARVARD  MEN  IN  THE  WAR        261 

Walter  H.  Wheeler,  Jr.,  '18,  American  Ambulance  Service, 
received  Croix  de  Guerre. 

Paul  D.  White,  '08,  M.D.  '11,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

Herbert  H.  White,  '93,  Business  Manager,  Harvard  Surgical 
Unit. 

Crosby  Church  Whitman,  '85,  in  charge  of  two  small  hos- 
pitals for  officers  and  men,  in  Paris;  died  March  29,  1916. 

Richard  Whoriskey,  '97,  assisted  at  American  Consulate, 
Hanover,  Germany. 

Francis  C.  Wickes,  LL.B.  '15,  Relief  Work  in  Belgium. 

Bertram  Willlams,  '18,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

George  Williamson,  '05,  Lieutenant  in  English  Army  in  Bel- 
gium; died  of  wounds  November  12,  1914;  believed  to  be 
first  Harvard  man  killed  in  the  War. 

Harold  B.  Willis,  '12,  American  Ambulance  Service,  received 
Croix  de  Guerre. 

Charles  S.  Wilson,  '97,  ist  Secretary,  American  Embassy, 
Petrograd;  fitted  up  American  Embassy  at  Petrograd,  at  own 
expense,  as  hospital  to  care  for  wounded  Russian  soldiers. 

Edwin  C.  Wilson,  '17,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

George  Grafton  Wilson,  Professor  of  International  Law; 
U.S.  Legal  Adviser  to  American  Legation  at  the  Hague. 

Philip  D.  Wilson,  '09,  M.D.  '12,  American  Ambulance  Hos- 
pital Unit. 

Charles  P.  Winsor,  '17,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Paul  Withlngton,  '09,  M.D.  '14,  Harvard  Surgical  Unit. 

Robert  Withington,  '06,  Commission  for  Relief  in  Belgium, 
first  in  Limbourg  and  then  in  Antwerp. 

Oliver  Wolcott,  '13,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Philip  H.  Wood,  '16,  American  Ambulance  Service. 

Robert  W.  Wood,  '16,  American  Ambulance  Service. 


262        HARVARD  MEN  IN  THE  WAR 

DIED  IN  THE  WAR 

Harry  Gustav  Byng,  '13;  killed,  May  16, 1915,  while  fighting 

in  British  Army  near  Festubert,  France. 
Andre   C.   Champollion,   '02;    killed,  March   23,   1915,  in 

trenches  at  Bois-le-Pretre,  France. 
Victor  Emmanuel  Chapman,  '13;  killed  in  action,  June  23, 

1916,  fighting  for  France  at  Verdun. 
Allen  M.  Cleghorn,  Assistant  in  Physiology,  Harvard  Medi- 
cal School,  '98-00;   Captain  in  Royal  Army  Medical  Corps; 

died  in  England,  March  20,  19 16,  after  brief  illness. 
Henry  Augustus  Coit,  '10;  died,  August  7,  1916,  at  French 

mihtary  hospital  of  injuries  received  at  front. 
Charles  Robert  Cross,  Jr.,  '03;  killed,  October  8,  191 5,  do- 
ing ambulance  duty  in  France. 
Fritz  Daur,  S.T.M.  '14;    killed,  November  20,  1914,  while 

fighting  in  German  Army  in  Flanders. 
Calvin  Wellington  Day,  G.S.  '12-14;  killed,  April  27,  1915, 

while  fighting  in  British  Army  at  Ypres. 
Henry  Weston  Farnsworth,  '12;  killed,  September  29, 1915, 

while  fighting  in  Foreign  Legion  at  Tahure. 
Merrill  Stanton  Gaunt,  And.  '14-16;  died,  April  3,  1916,  of 

cerebro-spinal  meningitis  in  hospital  at  Bar-le-Duc,  while  in 

Morgan-Harjes  Ambulance  Service. 
Harold  Marion-Crawford,  'ii;   killed,  in  spring  of  1915, 

while  fighting  in  British  Army  at  Givenchy. 
Clyde  Fahibanks  Maxwell,  '14;    killed  in  action  on  the 

Somme,  July  3,  191 6. 
Robert  Edouard  Pellissier,  '04;   killed  in  action  on  the 

Somme,  August  29,  1916. 
Norman  Prince,  '08;  killed  in  France,  October,  1916. 
Alan  Seeger,  '10;  killed  in  action  on  the  Somme,  July,  191 6. 
DiLLWYN  Parrish  Starr,  'o8;    killed  in  action  in  France, 

September  15,  1916. 


DIED  IN  THE  WAR  263 

Edward  Mandell  Stone,  '08;  died,  February  27,  191 5,  in 
military  hospital  at  Romilly,  France,  from  woimds  received 
while  fighting  in  Foreign  Legion. 

Crosby  Church  Whitman,  '86;  died,  March  29,  1916,  in  ser- 
vice at  Paris  hospital. 

George  Williamson,  '05;  died,  November  12,  1914,  in  Bel- 
gium, of  wounds  received  while  fighting  in  British  Army. 

The  following  Harvard  men  were  lost  in  the  sinking  of  the 
Lusitania,  May  7,  1915:  Carlton  Thayer  Brodrick,  '08; 
Richard  Rich  Freeman,  Jr.,  '09;  Edwin  William  Friend, 
'08;  Elbert  Hubbard,  '97;  Herbert  Stuart  Stone,  '94. 

George  Perkins  Knapp,  '87,  died  at  Diarbekir,  Asiatic  Tur- 
key, on  or  about  August  7,  191 5,  from  fever  or  poison,  after 
helping  Armenians  who  sought  refuge  at  his  mission  when 
Turkey  entered  the  War. 


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